


the isolation policy

by hetahonda



Series: the isolation policy [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Dystopian, Ensemble Cast, Gen, Government Conspiracy, Hetalia Countries Using Human Names, M/M, Nationverse, just a lil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:46:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22641265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hetahonda/pseuds/hetahonda
Summary: “The Earth’s dying, they didn’t tell me at what precedented rate -” Arthur was rambling again. The words were spilling out of him, one after another, the speech he’d planned and practiced so meticulously vanishing just like that. “But it’s dying, and a couple of us are moving up to this planet - this new planet, its atmosphere is almost identical to the one we have on Earth, we can start fresh there, we can...”There was a brief pause, as Francis’s look of concern slowly morphed into one of dismay. “And what about everyone else?”-In an alternate future, a so-called international epidemic forces the nations of the world to shut their doors and enter individual states of isolation.
Relationships: America/Japan (Hetalia), China/Russia (Hetalia), England/France (Hetalia)
Series: the isolation policy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1593193
Comments: 64
Kudos: 151





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER:
> 
> Although this fic is about the nations going into lockdown during an epidemic, it is NOT about, nor does it represent, the current coronavirus outbreak. I’ve had the idea for this fic since 2019, and **it has never, nor will it ever represent any current or real outbreaks**.
> 
> This is an **alternate universe** fanfic. Now that I’ve gotten this out of the way, please stay safe, remember to keep yourselves healthy and practice good hygiene during this period! 
> 
> -
> 
> Otherwise, thank you so much for clicking on this story!! :)

The ‘conspiracy board’ Alfred had hung up in his room looked like something out of one of his crime dramas. Amongst the scatter of thumbtacks, red string, and layers upon layers of Post-it notes - it was hard to tell where exactly to start looking. The board itself didn’t bother Matthew too much. The way Alfred spent hours in front of it muttering about how _things didn’t add up_ did.

By the sixth night Matthew had caught Alfred pacing up and down in front of the board, he decided that he had had enough.

“Okay Alfred!” Matthew called out, albeit a little impatiently. It was 4 in the morning, so he didn’t really blame Alfred from yelping in shock and dropping the mug he was holding. It smashed to the floor, splintering into pieces. What looked like Mountain Dew but smelt suspiciously like vodka pooled by Alfred’s feet.

“Jesus, Matt!” Alfred sighed, squatting down to gather up the pieces into his cupped hand. “Why aren’t you asleep yet?”

Matthew knelt down to help him. “Kinda hard to do that with you walking up and down over here. The living room’s _directly_ below your room, dumbass.”

“I already offered you the guest room,” Alfred mumbled. 

“Nah. Too weird. The place reeks of Kiku,” Matthew shot back jokingly, but instantly regretted bringing him up at the way Alfred’s face fell. “Sorry.”

“Whatever, man. It’s all good.” Alfred collected the remaining pieces from Matthew’s hand and got up, turning around to dump it into the wastepaper basket behind him. The basket was almost full, with crumpled up pieces of Post-it note paper that resembled the ones tacked up on Alfred’s board.

Matthew frowned. “You, uh, wanna tell me about the whole X-Files thing you’ve got going on here?”

Alfred took a step back, as if once again scrutinising the board laid out in front of him. It was overlaid with a standard world atlas, with certain cities crudely circled out in red marker, chains of Post-it notes tacked underneath them. The red string Alfred had looped around the scattered thumbtacks ran in a mess of directions. None of it seemed to make much sense.

Almost instinctively, Matthew’s gaze fell on the region marked _Canada_. Alfred had marked Montreal out with a bright red circle, a thumbtack with string looped around it sticking out from its centre. 

“I was meaning to sit you down and talk to you about this,” Alfred explained, “But I haven’t found a way to work the conclusion around to make it make sense yet.”

“That’s not how investigations work, Al.”

Alfred waved him off. “Sit down, Matthew.”

“What?”

Matthew was pushed, rather gently, into Alfred’s desk chair. 

“Since you’re here, and since this is clearly bothering you, what the hell, ya know? I’ll show you what I’ve got.” Alfred cleared his throat, undoing the red string from across the board. “Recap. Do you remember where the first case started?”

Matthew shrugged. “Christchurch? Or was it Montreal? Kuwait.”

Alfred had marked Christchurch out with a bright red circle as well. He pushed a thumbtack in, looping string around it and stretching it over to the one in Canada. “They’re all right.” He looped the string around the Montreal pin. “Dude, don’t you think there’s something off about this whole thing? Diseases don’t just pop up randomly in different places at the same time. I bet they were just trying to look for an excuse to incite an international lock in…” he trailed off. “Long story short. It’s not real and a bunch of big guys are probably in cahoots.”

Matthew stared at him. Sure, the Alfred he knew had his bouts of playing detective every now and then, but this was new. “That’s a stretch, especially for you, because I never took you for the tinhatty type.”

“Tinhatty?”

“This isn’t your own idea, is it?”

Alfred let go of the string. “Arthur talked to me at the last meeting.”

Matthew had to physically restrain himself from letting out a long, drawn out groan. “Arthur? What is it this time, did he talk to a crystal ball or something? Did his little fairy friends come up with some kind of prophecy? Jesus, Alfred. You should know better than this.”

“Matt, something’s wrong and you know it,” Alfred shot back defensively. “You know there’s something fishy about clamping down on every national border in the world, on shutting down Internet traffic from outside one’s own country. You snuck out here and pretended to be me before the borders clamped down, so clearly you had a reason-“

“Al, not every problem has a bad guy you can beat with your fists-“

There was a loud thud that came from downstairs, as what sounded like wood collided against Alfred’s front door. Matthew felt his blood run cold. It was 4 in the morning, and anybody trying to break into their house at this time did not come with good intentions. 

Another thud, this time heavier. Alfred looked mostly unfazed, albeit a little irritated, almost as if he had been expecting a visit. He looked over at Matthew, in that annoying _I told you so_ way that he had done so many times when they were children. “That, I assure you, I can solve with my fists.”

* * *

Mei could hear Leon retching into the toilet bowl again. 

The smell was something she had learnt to get used to - pungent and clinging to every crevice of the house they shared. The stench itself was easy enough to adjust to, but the way Leon looked more and more zombie-like with each passing day, not so much. She peeled her slippers off and padded into the dining room, setting the plastic baggy of pork buns on the table. “I’m home!”

Almost immediately, Yao strode in and grabbed the baggy off the table. “This is…”

“It’s from the stall near the train station. You said it was Leon’s favourite, right?”

“The one…” Yao trailed off, peeking into the paper bag. His usual ponytail had long since come loose. “ _Aiyah_! I completely forgot that I asked you to pick that up for him! I was wondering where the hell you had gone all day!”

“You’ve been forgetting more and more things these days, old man.”

From somewhere inside the house, Leon let out another retch.

Mei tugged her mask off. Pork bun bag slung through his wrist, Yao turned and headed towards the bathroom, Mei following closely behind. The sweet smell of barbecued pork wafting from the bag was slowly getting dwarfed by the reek of blood and puke.

“You really think this is gonna help boost his appetite?” 

“Gods, if it doesn’t, I don’t know what will,” Yao scoffed. 

Silence. Judging by the speed at which they were going, Mei only had a minute and a half to corner Yao with questions. She had mulled long enough, the same thoughts running through her head every sleepless night spent tossing and turning in bed. And yet, now that the words were actually weighing off the tip of her tongue, it felt more like baseless accusations than anything else.

Mei stopped walking. “Yao.”

“What is it?”

“Why did they cut off Internet access from the outside?”

Yao turned to face Mei. His expression was unreadable - lips pressed into a hard line, eyes betraying no sign of emotion. Yao was usually an open book and this felt way too rehearsed, almost as if he had been waiting for her to prod. “I thought I told you and Leon not to get involved in politics right now.”

Mei ignored him. “Why are people being moved out of Hong Kong?”

“Leon’s not the only island whose land is being acquired,” Yao responded flatly. 

“That’s all you can say?” Mei shot back, voice edged in irritation. The stress of the past three months had not been good on her, and it was sapping the last bit of her patience to keep herself from yelling at him. “You’re the only one in this house who still has contact with the bosses, and that’s all you can tell me? Leon has been hacking his guts out for a week, and-” 

“Mei!”

That was a voice Mei hadn’t heard in years. Sure, Yao chided and nagged, but hearing him actually scold her was alien and off-putting. 

“Alfred’s bosses have been doing the same to Hawaii. They probably need the space for labs, quarantines, I don’t know.”

“You _let them_ use Hong Kong for containment?” Sure, she had suspected as much, but actually hearing it said out loud - actually hearing Yao admit it - shot an angry, almost nauseating feeling into her stomach. “Yao, that?” She gestured angrily to the bathroom door from down the hall where they stood. “That’s your kid brother in there, for fuck’s sake.”

She knew she was pushing all the wrong buttons, but this time, she didn’t really care. Yao didn’t look like he was going to yell at her, not that he yelled much to begin with, but he looked utterly defeated. Yao had such a thick skin. Nothing would ever get to him, but she could tell that this time, she’d hit him where it hurt. “I didn’t _let them_ do anything. I’m making the best out of the shitty circumstances my bosses handed to me. That’s what all of us have been doing. Now, can you please-“

They were interrupted by a long, drawn out groan. Almost immediately, Mei and Yao whipped around to face Leon, staring at the both of them with a pained expression. 

Leon had always been on the skinnier side. Yet, seeing him like this - overgrown bangs hanging over his eyes that did little to help frame his already thinning face, only reminded Mei of just how bad things had gotten.

He glanced briefly downwards at the plastic baggy hanging from Yao’s wrist, then back up at his siblings. 

“Next time you fight about me, don’t do it in front of me. It’s weird,” Leon mumbled, jutting his chin in the bag’s direction. “This for me?”

Neither of them responded. Leon signed, and took the bag from Yao anyway. “Thanks. Was getting a bit tired of having to taste acid in my mouth all the time.”

* * *

“There is no need to panic over a border lockdown. This will all be over soon. I hope that you can stand with me, with us, for a safe and strong South Korea that we can call our own. Thank you.”

The lines on the teleprompter scrolled to a close. The camera operator shot him a thumbs up. Yong-soo pulled his jacket off, and ducked under the podium to retrieve his water bottle. The blazer didn’t feel right - way too boxy looking and overtly formal for his liking. It felt ceremonial at best. Didn’t matter how he was being dressed up, his bosses still didn’t see him as anything more than a stupid kid who didn’t know his place.

Yong-soo took a swig from his bottle. “Can I go home now?”

Mr Lee had been watching him closely the whole time, with all the sternness of a toddler's parent. “No. We will go through some guidelines first.”

Yong-soo set his water down, seeing that the teleprompter had automatically rewound itself back to the first few lines of his speech. _My fellow Koreans. I’d like to introduce myself._

There was a gross feeling of uneasiness kicking around in his stomach, but the panic still hadn’t set in yet. His lines had been read. The damage had been done. And yet, he was being oddly calm about it.

Maybe it was because he was surrounded by so many officials. Yong-soo knew he was way too stubborn to give them the satisfaction of seeing him act like a scared teenager. 

Mr Lee was still talking. Something something public appearances, something about how the best way Yong-soo could contribute would be to promote positive feelings of national independence to the people in this kind of global crisis. 

_Son of a bitch, you just want a distraction for the people and for me to fuck out of your way._

But Yong-soo didn’t say that out loud. Instead, he crushed the bottle in his hands. They’d won this time round. Pushed him into doing what they wanted, into outing a thousands year old secret to his people. They wanted him to play the fool? He was going to play the fool. He’d come this far anyway. 

Pretending that he was on their side, that everything was alright? That much he knew he could do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! thanks for clicking on this story and yes i used alfred and matthew for exposition
> 
> i’m so excited to finally be putting this stupid idea down into words, instead of having it swim around my head like it did ever since mid 2019
> 
> i have 0 plans to abandon this fic, though i’m still a full time student, i’ll be aiming at weekly updates! 
> 
> do leave a kudos or review if you want to! no obligation, but it really motivates me to write!
> 
> please excuse my horrific abuse of italics and i’ll see you guys next week!


	2. Chapter 2

Yong-soo didn’t feel like walking straight home that night. He wasn’t the superstitious type, and he definitely wasn’t the type to entertain _bad feelings_ or whatever - one, because he was way too modern for that, and two, because he was no pussy. But he really, really didn’t feel like walking home alone that night.

He knew he had been on edge ever since the broadcast. Without even checking Twitter, he knew his bosses had gotten what they’d wanted - shifting public attention (mostly) from the lockdown to him. Outing him and his existence as South Korea, outing the very existence of _immortal nation people to begin with_ , had potentially painted a target on his back.

The worldwide termination of international internet traffic would stall the media shitstorm for long enough, but what was going to happen when the walls came down? When the news got out that there had to be more just like him? He had heard so many stories of other nations being _this_ close to being exposed, so many fucking times and especially during wars - all seemingly under the same bullshit reason.

The very same bullshit reason that people like Mr Lee had been telling him, that his people needed something to believe in. That it was worth it to come out as a symbol of national identity in times of crisis.

Yong-soo knew that deep down, the nations knew that their existences could not be kept secret forever. But knowing that _he_ had been the kicker for this, inevitably or not, really pissed Yong-soo off. 

It was a live broadcast, so there would be no calm before the storm for him. By the time Yong-soo had left the studio, he knew he wasn’t just walking out as Im Yong-soo anymore. 

He scowled, scuffing his shoe against the pavement. This whole national lock in was really beginning to do him in. What he wouldn’t give just to be able to speak to another nation again. 

Yong-soo pulled his hood up as he crossed the street, the white noise of the city around him drowning out his thoughts. He regretted not bringing his motorbike out with him as he turned the corner, unconsciously fumbling with the keys in his hoodie pocket. The few civilians that were still outdoors seemed to stare at him, watching him, as if they had all seen the broadcast and were watching him in the flesh in complete fascination. No extreme reactions of nationalistic devotion or violent hatred, at least not yet. That was good enough for now. 

Idly swinging his key ring around his finger, Yong-soo headed up the stairs of his apartment block. 

A cold, unfamiliar hand grabbed his arm before he could reach his door. Instinctively, Yong-soo yanked his arm back, but was spun around to face his assailant. 

“I knew there was something wrong with you.”

Yong-soo staggered back, his eyes falling to the glint of the blade clutched in his elderly neighbour’s hands. 

“What the-“ He ducked as the old lady swung the kitchen knife at him. Seriously? He was being attacked? Already? Fuck, man. 

Yong-soo shoved past her, taking the stairs two at a time. His heart was in his throat, his head was empty. He’d survived assassination attempts before, but even then, those were all when he was still a boy in feudal Korea. The cries of _Demon! Demon!_ from behind him were beginning to feel disgustingly familiar once again. 

* * *

The banging on Alfred’s front door hadn’t stopped, and it was beginning to sound scarily like somebody was going at it with a battering ram. 

Matthew and Alfred were hovering near the front door, Alfred motioning for Matthew to keep quiet as he looked through the peephole. Clearly, running was not an option for Alfred. Running was never an option for him, as stubborn as he was. 

“Jones!”

Alfred jerked away from the door immediately, almost as if he’d been electrocuted. “Yeah?”

The voice was unfamiliar, but by the way Alfred had reacted to it, Matthew guessed that it was probably Alfred’s handler. “Did you change the lock without approval, Jones?”

Pause. Alfred shot a look at Matthew, then at the door, then at Matthew again, as if waiting for someone to come up with a solution. 

“ _What happened to solving this with your fists?_ ” Matthew hissed. 

“Okay, I was kind of expecting it to be the guys that were tailing me-“

“People are _tailing_ you?”

“-but dude, I can’t fight my handler! That’ll turn me into a national fugitive!” Alfred hissed back. The banging against his front door still hadn’t stopped. “Okay, okay, cut it out!” he yelled. “What’s this about?” 

The voice came again. “It’s just a periodical check in. Open the door, Mr Jones, or we’ll be forced to break it down.”

Matthew’s grip around the bat he had grabbed earlier tightened. He could feel nervous sweat beginning to form on the surface of his palms - he didn’t do well in situations like these, and it had been years since he had been in an actual fight. Frantic thoughts were racing through his head. He knew he should have seen a scenario like this coming, ever since he made that stupid, impulsive decision to sneak himself into America.

“At four in the morning? Periodical check my ass,” Alfred scoffed. “Matt, y’know the backdoor behind my kitchen? Follow the road behind it, there’s a shitty 24 hour cafe place about a half hour’s walk from here. I’ll meet you there, just let me sort out some shit with my bosses first.”

“I don’t know, Al. You should probably come with.”

Alfred pulled his bomber jacket back, revealing a concealed handgun hanging off his belt. “Hey, if it ever comes down to it, I’m perfectly fine handling myself.” Another bang shook his front door. Alfred shoved Matthew towards the kitchen, his hands curled around his brother’s shoulders in a vice like grip. “Dude, just go. I swear they’ll deport your sorry ass if you don’t.”

“Mr Jones, this is your final warning!”

“Yeah, okay! I’m naked! Don’t come in!” Alfred yelled back. Matthew shook Alfred off him, and elbowed the back door open. It was well concealed, hidden behind the poorly maintained vineyards and mildew in Alfred’s backyard. Once they heard Alfred’s front door give way, Alfred gave Matthew a final push out the door and Matthew hit the ground running. The cool night breeze hit him as he bolted down the road, baseball bat swinging by his side for good measure. It was so quiet. The only sounds that followed him were the dull crunch of his shoes against gravel, and Alfred’s booming voice from the house behind him. 

Matthew strained and strained to listen to the sound of Alfred’s voice as he ran, anything that signalled that he was okay. It took only about ten minutes once he was completely out of earshot. 

Now that he was really, truly alone, Matthew was reminded of the reason why he’d even snuck into America in the first place.

Being alone could be really fucking terrifying sometimes. 

The sudden sound of a gunshot ripped through the silence of the night. Matthew’s first instinct was to run back, see if Alfred was okay, but he had to remind himself that _Alfred_ had a gun too and if anything, Alfred should be able to take care of himself. His bosses would never hurt him. 

Another gunshot rang through the air. Matthew kept running. 

* * *

Kiku was lying on his back, staring blankly up at the beige wall above him. He had so many wandering thoughts clouding his mind, yet so many of those thoughts seemed to evaporate in his throat the moment he tried putting them out in words. It was hard to be open, especially in _therapy_ of all places, when it came to being Kiku Honda. He had spent centuries learning to swallow personal feelings for the sake of his honour and nationalistic duty as Japan, and his bosses expecting him to unlearn all that in weeks was laughable at best. 

At worst? It was a pathetic attempt at keeping his head clear after kicking him from the very basis of his duties as a nation. 

“I think…” Kiku trailed off, struggling to piece his words together. “I think I’ve grown dependant. On my bosses, on my job, on this stupid value of duty that’s tied to the whole job thing, because that’s the only way I know to live my life. And now that I’ve lost that, I’ve lost direction, you know?”

Kiku was being a lot more chatty than he was during the last session - he’d figured that a drink of sake would loosen his tongue and make sessions more productive, and it looked like it was working. Heck, he was only here, with a government sanctioned therapist, by request of his bosses. In some ironic, fucked up way, this was just like a mere extension of his duties.

“And, I think, maybe - maybe they’re doing this for my own good. I trust them! I really do. Maybe they don’t trust me. Maybe they think that I need a break, and that this will make me more efficient in the long run. But then I think about my friends before the border shutdown, and I think about how they were slowly being removed from _their_ positions in government, and I think about how little I even know of what’s going on in my own country right now. I’m being pushed out of my work during a critical period like this, and- and-“

Kiku caught himself, the words _and I really miss Alfred and Yao and everyone else_ dying on his tongue right then and there. He was a little drunk, but he sure as hell wasn’t stupid. As long as he was speaking to a therapist sanctioned by his bosses, nothing between them was confidential. He had nothing to gain by revealing personal information to that degree to his therapist, and by extension, his bosses. They’d see him as weak, unprofessional, and unfit to work. 

“I’ll be fine,” Kiku concluded, getting up from the sofa chair. He turned for the door, grabbing the head of the sofa to steady himself. He felt light-headed, as if his head had been submerged underwater for hours. He wanted to go home. “Tell Sato-san that I just need a week off, and I’ll be fine. I’ll be awaiting further instructions.”

* * *

“How’re you feeling?”

Leon looked up to find Mei leaning against the frame of his bedroom door. He pulled himself up to a sitting position.

Truth be told, he felt like shit. Having to spend hours hunched over a toilet bowl, gagging on his own bile and blood was not fun. The pains in his chest and the constant air of nausea that flooded his head didn’t help either. It was hard to eat without feeling like throwing up, so as much as he appreciated the buns that Mei and Yao had gotten him, he’d thrown it out the second he was out of their sight. He didn’t want his lack of appetite to worry them.

“Great.” Leon idly scratched the back of his neck. “Thanks for the buns.”

“I know you didn’t eat them,” Mei responded, seating herself at the foot of Leon’s bed. “You could’ve given it to me or Yao, it’s a waste of perfectly good buns.”

Leon winced. “My bad.”

For a while, neither of them spoke. It was obvious that Mei had something she wanted to talk about, but she was struggling to find the words to. 

“You shouldn’t be too hard on Yao, y’know,” Leon interjected. “Sure, yeah, his bosses are crap. Like, what’s new? But he has to be careful around them if he wants to get favours. And, embarrassingly enough, he’s been doing it all for me.” Leon shrugged, somewhat nonchalantly. “The fact that they let you come visit me from Taipei was a miracle. Everyone else is on lockdown. You’re only here because his shitty bosses _let_ you be here. I guess the whole _dying Xiao Long_ narrative really played off. Teacher really knows how to guilt-trip like a pro.”

“The thing is that you’re not dying,” Mei cut in firmly. “And besides, Yao can buy all the pork buns and bring you all the family and friends that he wants, but none of that shit is actually going to help you get better.“

Leon took a deep breath, fighting down the bile that was threatening to rise from his throat. “Then if I’m not dying, what is it?”

“You’re turning human, aren’t you?”

“Probably,” Leon answered in a small voice. He had already suspected as much. The restlessness and the fatigue that had sprouted from pains in his bones and his organs felt _much too mortal_. Too mortal, too human. For the first time in a long time, he felt vulnerable, like a hollow bag of flesh and bones. Whatever nation lifeblood he had had left felt like it was evaporating out of him. “I don’t know. They moved my people off my land. I don’t know how long it’s going to be for. It definitely doesn’t feel great.”

Mei glanced towards the door, checking to see if Yao had been listening in on them. 

“Okay. They’re sending me back to Taipei tomorrow, right? They’re not going to confirm that I’ve _reached_ Taipei, just that I’ve _left_.”

He wasn’t sure where exactly she was going with this.

“I’m going to Germany. If Gilbert Beilschmidt can somehow survive until today, you and I are going to need to have a talk with him.”


	3. Chapter 3

The little princess watched as Arthur ascended the stairs to the royals’ private jet, her large, doe-like eyes wide and unblinking. 

“How long will you be gone, Artie?”

Arthur turned back to look at her, a soft smile gracing his tired expression. “However long it will take to bring my family home, Elsie.”

“And then our families can go together?”

“Of course.”

She giggled, running to rejoin her nanny. For the seven-year-old princess, it was good enough for her. 

* * *

The plan was simple enough. Mei and Leon were to meet at Shanghai International port, and catch a cargo ship to Munich. 

Mei was being accompanied by a Chinese agent to the airport, where she would complain about stomach pains, and leave the airport through the toilet windows. From there, she and Leon would meet at the shipyard, change into the cargo handler uniforms Mei had stolen, and sneak onboard the Wissen cargo vessel.

Yao didn’t know about this. Knowing him, if he didn’t make Leon stay home, he would insist on coming with them - which would have just made things worse. It was one thing to Yao’s bosses for the nation avatar of Hong Kong to go missing, but it was another thing completely for them if the nation avatar of China were to disappear.

Leon couldn’t help but feel just the smallest pinch of guilt once he was at the door, just about to leave for the shipyard. Yao was stretched out on the sofa in deep slumber, his long dark hair falling all over his face in a mess. The older nation was definitely looking more frazzled these days - and it was hard to blame him, what with the backdoor meetings that he didn’t want to talk about, and all the looking after Leon that he had been doing. 

He kicked his shoes off and strode back into the living room, reaching for a pen and notepad on the coffee table.

_Teacher -_

_I’m gonna be gone for a bit, but like, don’t worry about it. Mei’s going to help me get better. Besides, you’ve always said that we needed more sibling bonding time anyway._

_I know you won’t, but don’t snitch on us to your bosses._

_Thanks for taking care of me all this while. I’ll bring you something from Germany when I get back._

_Xiao Long_

* * *

Matthew was alone in the shitty 24 hour cafe down the road, accompanied only by 80s hits playing from the cafe’s countertop radio, and the occasional lights of passing trucks shining through smudged windows. The teenaged barista who had served him had long since ducked back into the kitchen, leaving Matthew undisturbed. 

It was impossible to tell how long he had been sitting here - a pit of nerves bristling uncomfortably in his stomach as he fiddled with the rolled up receipt in his hands. Judging by how cold his shitty espresso had gotten, he knew he had to be here for at least half an hour.

The tinkling of the storefront’s bell alerted the arrival of a new customer, and Matthew’s head snapped up almost instantly. In strode Alfred, splatters of dried blood coating the outsides of his white button down, blue eyes glazed over with a dazed, blank look. 

_Oh, thank God._ Matthew let out a small sigh, waving Alfred over to sit with him. 

Alfred slid into the opposite booth, pulling his glasses off and running a hand over his face. His bomber jacket, slung over his shoulder, crumpled into the seat beside him. “Fuck...” he groaned, the weight of 200 years of life and death behind him evident. “I really hate killing humans.”

Matthew’d expected as much. The first thought that crossed his head - _better them than you_ \- but he figured that that would be better left unsaid. “It’s okay, Al. You did what you had to do.”

“Did I?” Alfred challenged, as if waiting - _begging_ for Matthew to prove him wrong. ”Did I really have to kill my handler, Matt? Yeah, sure, Paul was always kind of a douchebag, but - fuck, dude, I didn’t have to _kill_ him.”

“Al! Cut it out!” Matthew snapped. Alfred was going to spiral again. That hero complex of his worked like a doubled edged sword - stubborn and courageous in his best moments, self-hating and obnoxious in his worst. “What happened back there?”

“It wasn’t just Paul,” Alfred mumbled, fidgeting with his glasses in his hands. One of its lens had a large, spidery crack down its side. “At first I thought that they were here for you, that they found out that there’s a Canadian across the borders, y’know. But the guys who were tailing me for the past week? They were there, and Paul was _with_ them, and I think they tried to kidnap me.” Alfred paused, his grip on his glasses tightening. “Fuck, man. There was five of them. I panicked, shot Paul and another guy, ran for it.”

Now that he was up close, Matthew could see just how visibly shaken Alfred was. 

“One of the guys I shot, they were yelling at me about how I was going to hell with all of my elite friends - I have no idea what the hell they were going on about.”

“Crazy person, probably,” Matthew added.

Neither of them spoke for a bit. Alfred still looked like he was trying to gather his bearings, as he scrubbed idly at the stains on his shirt with the cafe’s tissue paper. Matthew glanced out of the window. The sky outside was paling in shades of orange and pink and blue, the sun finally rising again after what felt like ages of inky black night.

“So what do I do now?” Alfred asked in a small voice. “Turn myself in?”

It was only a matter of time before Alfred’s government would realise something had happened, and only a matter of time before Alfred himself might be named a fugitive in his own land. Matthew slid his coffee cup across the table to Alfred. He knew he could use the caffeine, but hell, Alfred probably needed it more. “Drink this, then we’ll talk aliases.”

* * *

“Paris is for saps,” Arthur mumbled, one hand interlaced in his husband’s own, the other wrapped around his waist.

It was intoxicating. The Parisan night breeze that blew gently around them, the sweet smell of the nearby bakery that it carried, the soft echo of music that Francis had insisted on putting on for the occasion. It was two in the morning. Arthur was slow dancing with his husband under the Eiffel Tower, in what was perhaps the most cliche romantic scene anyone could have dreamt of.

“I suppose London is not any better, Arthur?” Francis retorted with a smirk, the same teasing way he had done for so many years now. He really hadn’t changed much. He still insisted on growing his shiny blonde hair out, he still dressed irritatingly well, and he still knew how to annoy and sweep Arthur off his feet, somehow both at the same time. 

“Believe it or not, I’m actually thrilled to be out of London, for once.”

“And I’m thrilled that you’re here, as usual,” Francis chuckled. Arthur rolled his eyes - Francis had always been the flirt when it came to the both of them. There were no more quickened heartbeats, no more butterflies, just the comfortable familiarity of thousands of years between them. They’d swung from enemies, to friends, to lovers, to everything in between, until Francis had asked for his hand in a personal (not political, it never, _ever_ worked out if it was political) union after the end of the Second World War.

The silver band around Arthur’s finger still fit as comfortably as it did back in 1945. 

“It’s been so long since we last got a chance to meet, _mon chéri_ ,” Francis mused, unconsciously running a thumb down Arthur’s hand. “How did you even manage to get yourself through those borders?” 

Arthur took a deep breath, pulling himself away from the other nation. Francis’s blissful ignorance could only last so long, as happy as it had made them in the past few hours. 

“Francis… This whole - virus thing, it’s not real.”

Francis blinked slowly at Arthur, as if not quite comprehending what he had just heard. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m here because my bosses let me be here - because _your_ bosses let me be here. I needed to talk to you about this. The Earth’s dying, they didn’t tell me at what precedented rate -“ Arthur was rambling again. The words were spilling out of him, one after another, the speech he’d planned and practiced so meticulously vanishing just like that. “But it’s dying, and a couple of us are moving up to this planet - this new planet, its atmosphere is almost _identical_ to the one we have on Earth, we can start fresh there, we can-“

“Hold on, hold on.” Francis took Arthur’s hand gently, eyeing the Brit with a concerned look. “Slow down for me. What’s going on?”

Arthur let out a small, shaky sigh, squeezing Francis’s hand lightly for reassurance. “The virus epidemic’s not real. The lockdown’s just a preventive measure against mass panic if this gets out.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not. Everyones’ bosses, some of their friends, they’re moving to this new planet. The royal family told me about this, invited me to come with them - I’ve always been close to the royals - and I want you to come with me. You, me, Alfred and Matthew. We can go with them. Start anew.”

There was a brief pause, as Francis’s look of concern slowly morphed into one of dismay. “And what about everyone else?”

“They’re… Only letting me bring three people. Space constraints, and what not.”

Arthur didn’t know what kind of reaction he was expecting. He had essentially dropped a huge bomb on Francis, but still, he had offered him a way out of it. Francis didn’t respond at first. The song he had put on had faded out long ago, and the silence that fell between the two was deafening. Arthur watched him quietly, trying to gauge for a reaction, any reaction, from the Frenchman’s expression. Francis wasn’t meeting his gaze anymore.

“Francis, love?”

Francis yanked his hand away from Arthur’s. His eyes, once so tender and loving, had hardened into an angry, disgusted stare. Arthur felt a sharp pang of hurt in his chest. “So you’re just going to leave _your_ people, _my_ people, _everyone else_ \- lied to and locked in on a planet you know is dying? God, Arthur, I knew you were _selfish_ but not to this extent.”

“ _Selfish_? I’m doing this for _us_ , and for the _boys_ , you wanker!” Arthur fired back. If there was one thing they were used to, it was the yelling, the fights. It had been way too long since they last argued. And as horrible as it felt, Arthur embraced the anger that was beginning to burn up inside him, just like they had in old times. “Excuse me for wanting to at least _protect_ my family while the rest of the Earth goes to shit, because I can’t exactly help _everybody else_ , can I?” he hissed.

“Oh Britain,” Francis scoffed. “You are such a sad, lonely little man, aren’t you? I’m sorry you don’t have any friends, but _please_ , excuse me for not wanting to abandon my _people_ and my _friends_ for the sake of your own selfish plans. If the world’s elite is to ditch a dying planet and everyone else to shit, I will refuse to go with you and your fancy royal pals.”

It was crazy how fast they’d spun from holding each other and whispering sweet nothings into the other’s ear, to hissing and throwing insults like wounded cats. 

But that was how they seemed to work, anyway.

Arthur took a deep breath, willing himself to not say or do anything rash that he would probably regret. He knew Francis. Francis was proud and stubborn and unlikely to back out on a decision, and as infuriating as that was, Arthur knew he could never turn his back on him. 

Between his thousand year relationship with the royal family, and his thousands year long relationship with Francis, he knew he had to pick the latter.

“Bollocks, you know what? Fine.” Arthur ripped the tracking device from his coat, and dropped it on the floor. There was no turning back now. 

Francis narrowed his eyes at the beeping device, as Arthur crushed it under his shoe. “What is it now, were you going to turn me in to your royal friends?”

“They bugged me, you frog. I’ve been bugged too many times to count. I know when I’ve been bugged,” Arthur shot back. “They’re scared that I go rogue while in France, what with all the _confidential government secrets_ that I’m holding. Now do you want to run before they track us down to our last location or not?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for clarification - only arthur’s bosses told him about the real reason behind the lock-in, and that’s only because he’s a longtime family friend of the royals himself. the other nations’ bosses could care less about them.
> 
> i don’t know how shipyards work, whatever information i got was from videos of youtubers sneaking onto cargo ships themselves, so i’m really sorry if mei and leon’s part for this chapter was unrealistic :(
> 
> if you want some ambience, listen to this while you read francis and arthur’s bit for this chapter - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MorJVRlYHCg&list=LLO_Pbwcn0cK0B1yy7osGvag&index=28&t=0s


	4. Chapter 4

Alfred had passed out long ago, promptly knocking out from exhaustion the moment his head hit the filthy motel pillow. They both agreed that it wouldn’t be safe to head back to Alfred’s place, so the seedy looking motel who accepted their half-assed fake I.Ds would have to do for now.

Ironically, despite giving all his coffee to Alfred, Matthew was the one who was having trouble falling asleep. He lay quietly on the thin mattress, listening to Alfred’s rhythmic snoring from the other bed, watching the hands of the motel clock tick from minute to minute. The room was stuffy. His shirt was beginning to soak with cold sweat.

Matthew sat up, kicking the thin sheets off him in frustration. He knew he would regret it in the morning, but his body clearly wasn’t going to let him fall asleep anyway. 

Dashes of moonlight peaked through the blinds, doing little to help illuminate the room around him. The baseball bat Matthew had grabbed earlier was leaning precariously against the front door, next to where Alfred had dumped his backpack. There was a sink, an ancient kettle he’d rather not use, and a bunny-eared TV he realised was stuck only on a kid’s channel. 

Against his better judgement, he slid off the bed and knelt down to unzip Alfred’s backpack. 

He didn’t know what he was expecting, but the stacks and stacks of envelopes and letters was definitely not it.

Each of the envelopes were addressed to the same person - _Kiku Honda, 17 Waseda Street, Shinjuku City, Tokyo_ \- all carefully written out in Alfred’s loopy, cursive script. Civilian postal services had been cut months ago, but it looked like Alfred just never stopped writing. 

Feeling a little bit guilty for going through Alfred’s stuff, Matthew opened the only unsealed envelope, dated just two days ago. 

_Kiku,_

_I still can’t figure out what the whole deal is with the lock-in. I know that there’s something funny going on, Arthur told me as much, but I honestly don’t even know what to believe anymore._

_On the bright side! Matthew’s been here for a couple days, and it’s been nice having another nation around. We can hang out and all like normal, but there’s only so much we can do while cooped up at home - don’t want him getting caught and deported back to Canada, y’know._

(Matthew chuckled a bit at that part.)

_But other than that? Same old, same old I guess. It sucks not having you around. I know I say that a lot, but it’s a lot worse now that they’ve cut the Internet too, so I guess I’ve got this to tide me over until this whole shitstorm clears up._

_I’m looking forward to the day when I can give these letters to you in person, Keeks. I miss you so much._

_Alfred_

What Alfred and Kiku had was sweet - almost a little silly - what with the whole _secret romance_ they had going on. Sure, Alfred had told Matthew, and Arthur had found out himself (somehow), but anyone within a fifty mile radius would be able to sniff out just how stupidly in love they were. 

From behind him, Alfred stirs, mumbling in his sleep as he rolled over to the other side of the bed. Matthew slid the letter back into his bag. 

* * *

Leon fixed the hard hat over his head, looking over his shoulder to check that they weren’t being watched. Coast clear. “What’s our cover story again?”

Mei was struggling to fix the zip on her own safety vest. “Your name is Xu Deng. You’re a 20-year-old engineer from another cargo company sent to supervise the delivery. I’m your colleague.”

He fiddled with the name tag Mei had prepared for him, _SUPERVISOR_ printed on it in big bold text. “You really think they’ll buy it?”

“As long as we look like we know what we’re doing, they won’t suspect a thing.” Mei slapped her brother playfully across the chest, as if in an attempt to lighten the mood. “We just have to keep it up for - ah, how long is this trip again - one month? You don’t answer to Leon Wang Kha Loung anymore, got it?”

Leon’s phone goes off, an irritatingly loud disco jingle coming from inside his pocket. 

“Is that Yao?”

He reached into his pocket to shut it off, ignoring the crushing feeling of guilt that had never really left him alone. “Too many times, Mei. Too many.”

With one final tug, she eased the zip of her safety vest up, patting her clothes down one final time. “You ready?”

Leon nodded mutely. 

They slipped out from behind the shipping container. One quick scan of the area assured them that no one had noticed - the shipyard was fairly busy, but the workers that dressed so similarly to them milled around in small, tired groups that didn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. 

Leon repeated Mei’s words in his head like a mantra, the siblings crossing the deck towards the giant, hulking mass of ship that would be their ride for the next one month. _You’re not Leon Wang, you’re Xu Deng, you have nothing to hide and they have nothing to throw you out for._

It was cold. The shipyard was by the sea and strong winds were a given, but Leon was freezing. His throat was aching, his breaths more and more strained as he struggled to keep up with Mei’s pace. Cold sweat was breaking out uncomfortably from underneath his long-sleeved shirt. 

One of the cargo handlers made eye contact with him - a passing glance, but Leon felt his heart drop at the contact. _Don’t look away. Don’t look away._ The man’s gaze trailed lazily to the badge on Leon’s safety vest, before slowly shifting away as he continued going about his business. Leon shot Mei a side glance, who either didn’t notice, or was doing a very good job of pretending that she didn’t.

They took the stairs up to the ship’s deck, Leon grabbing on to the railing as they went. His head was heavy, swimming with a wave of nausea that was threatening to wash over him and undo the contents of his already emptied stomach. He’d already long gotten to the point where there was nothing left but blood for him to spit and hack. 

Mei made her way down to the ship’s quarters, Leon following closely behind. His phone was vibrating in his pocket again. 

Mei didn’t even have to turn to look. “Yao?”

“Yup.”

They reached the end of the hall, and Mei rapped impatiently on the door to the last room. It swung open, revealing two tired looking engineers staring back at them.

The first one looked a little irritated at their disturbance. “Can I help you, Miss?”

“You most certainly can.” Mei folded her arms, matching his annoyed look with her own. “This quarter is for supervisors. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“But this is our-“

_“Don’t make me ask twice.”_

The other engineer looked as if he was going to argue, but took one look at the badge on her vest and decided against it. She waited patiently as the workers began gathering their things, and as soon as they walked out, she pushed the door shut and locked it. 

She spun around to face Leon, a wide, shit-eating grin on her once unsmiling expression. “Impressed?”

Leon rolled his eyes, plopping himself down onto the lower bunk’s mattress. Now that they were finally out of sight - safe - he could feel himself begin to relax. “Okay, fine, I’m impressed. But like, these badges work _magic_. Where’d you even get them?”

“Well, I kinda just stole them from Yao - he never told you about the time he snuck onto a cargo ship to see Ivan Braginsky?”

“The old man did what?”

Mei smirked. “I’ll tell you another time.”

Leon fished his still chiming mobile out of his pocket - Yao had left him 24 missed calls and 115 frantic text messages. 

_WANG KHA LOUNG WHERE ARE U_

Mei leaned over to peek at his screen, and let out a faux wince of discomfort. “Yikes. I can practically hear him from here. I don’t even want to check my phone after that.”

_Young man you better not be going to germany or i WILL ground you for the next fifty years_

“I don’t know, Mei,” Leon mumbled, clicking his phone off. “I mean, like, I still feel bad about this whole-“

That feeling of nausea was rising again, chest constricting uncomfortably as he started to taste bile and blood at the back of his throat. He struggled to fight it down, gesturing desperately for the bucket at the corner of the room.

Mei understood immediately, getting up to grab the bucket and holding it under Leon’s chin. 

He threw up again. No matter how many fucking times he’d done it, he never got used to it - the repulsive taste of his own stomach acids regurgitated through his sandpaper dry throat, the sour aftertaste it always left behind. He gulped breaths of clean air, pulling back from the bucket as he fought to get his breathing under control. The smell lingered - acidic and stinging and threatening to make him hurl again. 

Mei picked the bucket up, ruffling Leon’s hair affectionately. “You okay?”

“I can’t - let the other people on board think I’m infected,” he choked. “They’ll panic, they’ll throw me out, they’ll throw you out, they’ll…”

Leon trailed off. The dizziness in his head was beginning to settle, but that horrible feeling of guilt was still kicking around in the pits of his gut. The ship had finally begun to move out, the dull sound of the ship’s horn echoing from outside their double-glassed windows. 

* * *

“Seamus?”

Arthur picked at his food, shrugging. “Nope.”

Francis hadn’t touched his own plate at all. “Allistor?”

“ _Allistor_?” Arthur scoffed, a wry smirk crossing his tired expression. “Are you kidding? Of the four of us, it’s safe to say that our bosses hate him the most.”

Francis didn’t respond immediately, idly drumming his fingers on the table. The weather was nice. They were hiding in plain sight, sitting amongst couples in a pleasant little breakfast cafe, bread basket and jam untouched between the two of them. They’d taken Francis’s car to a little town in Toulon, as far away from his Parisian residence as possible. 

It had bought them some time, but not nearly enough. 

”I wanted to talk to them about what I knew.” A faint look of sadness crossed Arthur’s face - he looked like he was struggling to hold it back. Arthur didn’t have the best relationship with his brothers, but family was still family. “But I couldn’t find them. Allistor stopped turning up for meetings way before the lockdown started. Seamus went looking for him - supposedly - and I haven’t heard from him for months. Dylan... I don’t know.”

Arthur frowned, reaching for a bread roll. “My bosses told me that I’d meet them again once we moved to this new planet. And I went with it. But the whole thing seems kind of off, you know? Think about the timing.” He stabbed the roll with his butter knife. “Allistor kept poking and prodding about the supposed disease, the bosses were getting pretty pissed with him - and then he’s gone, just like that.”

Francis rolled his eyes. “They probably didn’t want him to cause _public panic_ , no?”

“And it’s not like _Allistor_ of all people to vanish so quietly too,” Arthur grumbled. 

Francis hummed softly in agreement, easing the butter knife out of Arthur’s hands. “Now, now, Arthur… Before you take someone’s eye out with that.” 

Arthur let the knife go with a huff. 

“Thing is, I don’t know what to do next,” he added. “Well - I _was_ going to join the royal family and bring you, Alfred and Matthew with me - maybe my brothers are there already - but you kind of threw a wench in my plans back there.”

“Glad to see you’re coming around.”

There was a moment of silence between them, Arthur munching angrily on his bread roll, Francis watching quietly as cars rolled by outside the cafe windows. 

“You know, Italy is just a couple hours’ drive from here.”

Arthur didn’t meet his gaze. “No.”

“What?” Francis countered. “Why?”

“Seriously, what do you even plan on getting out of sneaking into Italy, anyway?” Arthur retorted, putting his roll down. “Is having the British and French governments on our tail not enough? Do you want the Italian one on our back as well?”

Francis let out a sigh - loud and obnoxious and guaranteed to piss Arthur off. “Britain, I know you don’t have many friends-“

“I do too, you prat!”

“- but has it not occured to you that maybe, just _maybe_ , having other nations on our side would be beneficial in solving this mess that our bosses created? The Italy brothers are just across the border, if we can just find a way over-”

“Francis, I know you miss them!” Arthur snapped. He could feel the stares of strangers burning into his back, but frankly, he couldn’t really give a shit. The past few hours had worn him thin - a jumble of guilt, fear and anger tangled up in his head. “I know you miss them,” he muttered, lowering his voice. “I know you hate being separated from the other nations, fuck it, I hate it too. But joyriding into Italy? That’s stupid. It’s too risky.”

Francis met Arthur’s frantic glare, his blue eyes betraying no sign of disturbance - a stark contrast to the fierce agitation in Arthur’s own. “You know what’s stupid and risky? Staying here like sitting ducks for my own bosses to come for our heads.”

Arthur scowled. _God, he can be so fucking stubborn sometimes._

_Well, two can play at that game._

“We’re not going to Italy,” Arthur repeated.

“Yes we are.”

“No we’re not.”

Francis leaned over, gently turning Arthur’s head to face the window behind him. A police car was parked outside, four officers milling outside the cafe’s entrance. “Yes, yes we are.”

Arthur whipped back around, turning to stare at Francis with a burning look of exasperation. “And you couldn’t _wait_ to tell me earlier, you prat?” he hissed.

“I did it to see the angry look on your face, darling,” Francis retorted sweetly. “Now hurry up and finish your food, Italy’s not going to wait all day for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> allistor - scotland  
> seamus - ireland  
> dylan - wales
> 
> francis and arthur are so fun to write…….
> 
> i promise i’ll try to bring yong-soo back for the next chapter, i miss him too


	5. Chapter 5

The sudden bang of the room’s door jolted Leon into bleary consciousness. The back of his throat was aching, and it still felt like his head was being pounded mercilessly into his skull, over and over again - it had gotten so much worse ever since the ship left the harbour. 

“Mei?” he called weakly. 

There was a dull thump as something heavy and metallic hit the ship’s floorboards, a weird acidic smell materialising from behind him. Leon rolled over on his side, still partially curled up in the foetal position he had assumed while asleep. 

It wasn’t Mei. It was the two engineers Mei had chased out, now armed with masks and rubber gloves, the bucket that Leon had puked in at their feet. They were keeping a considerable distance from Leon’s bed, eyeing him like he was some sort of disease.

To be fair, they probably thought he was. 

Leon pulled himself up to a sitting position. “Okay, okay. What’s all this about?”

The first engineer spoke, his voice muffled from the three layers of surgical masks he had on. “We caught your sister trying to throw this overboard.”

“Fuck, man. I know it’s hard to believe, but like, I’m not sick, okay?” 

“The ship’s an enclosed area! You’re going to get us all killed!” the second one snapped.

Leon ran a hand through his hair, leaning against the frame of his bed for support. His head was spinning, but if he turned around to hack blood in front of these two idiots, he’d only make them panic more. “Where’s my sister?”

“Don’t worry, she’s okay. We quarantined her. Put her in isolation.”

Leon felt a hollow sense of dread twist in his gut. “She’s not even sick.”

“It’s not worth the risk,” the second engineer replied stonily.

The first engineer looked at odds with himself - almost like he felt bad for Leon, his gaze weakening as it met the younger boy’s as if in apology. He looked at his colleague, then at Leon again, and sighed, pulling his colleague over to whisper in his ear. 

The other engineer grunted, as if in reluctant agreement, and the first engineer pulled away. 

“We’ll drop you two off at the next country we pass by. You’ll be their problem. That way, at least you won’t kill us all.” He looked Leon up and down, and picked the bucket up with a gloved hand. “And, uh, get some rest before we reach.”

Leon nodded silently, letting himself slide back against the mattress as the door slammed shut behind him.

* * *

“We’re reaching the border, Francis.”

“I know.”

“There’s border guards, Francis. They have guns.”

“I _know_.”

Four hours on the road was no joke. They had the radio on for the first hour, but Arthur had shut it off once the police alert came on requesting for information on what sounded like their whereabouts - Francis had insisted that it wasn’t them that they were talking about, that _obviously_ he looked taller than 5’7 anyway - but Arthur was getting antsy. 

They drove in silence for the next three hours. The further they got from the town, the more deserted the roads became, nothing but trees and tunnels and trees accompanying them for miles. 

Francis showed no signs of slowing down, his white knuckled grip tight on the steering wheel, blue eyes glazed over in a hazy, tired sort of way. He looked exhausted. The white blur of the border checkpoint was getting closer and closer, two figures of armed border guards in the distance. For a moment, Arthur was genuinely convinced that Francis had fallen asleep, eyes open, behind the wheel. 

Arthur nudged him. “Francis?”

Without warning, the car lurched forward. Arthur yelped, flung against his seatbelt as they sped down the highway. The blurry figures of the guards were quickly coming into focus, yelling at them, running back into the station for backup. 

“France, what the hell?!”

“What were you going to tell them, huh? That we’re here on government purposes?” They plummeted through the vehicle barrier, splitting the plastic bar in two with a loud crack. “That you’re the nation personification of England and that you’re trying to save their butts from a government conspiracy?” Arthur could hear gunshots going off behind them. Francis turned a corner, hurtling the car down main street. He drew in a breath, letting out a low sigh between clenched teeth. “Apologies. Lost my cool for a second there. Welcome to Italy, I suppose.”

The town was quiet - it reminded Arthur of his own situation back home in London, where most of the citizens had been scared indoors, scared of contracting something from the outside. The car had slowed down considerably, Francis’s grip on the wheel slackening as the sounds of the patrol car behind them grew fainter and fainter. 

Francis pulled the car to a stop, undoing his seatbelt. “Alright. Get out. It’s easier to lose them on foot.”

They abandoned the car on the side of the road, traversing through the mostly empty streets of Turin in silence. It was romantic, in a weird way, walking down a quiet street surrounded by age-old Italian architecture with Francis. Normally, Francis would have talked his ear off about the place, about how much history he had with it and how much he knew, and Arthur would mask that feeling of endearment that swelled inside him with one of faux annoyance, which would only spur Francis to chatter on more. 

Today he was quiet, and whether it was from the past few hours’ worth of tension or the exhaustion, Arthur couldn’t tell. 

Arthur took him by the arm, tugging it gently. “Let me call the Italy brothers, okay?”

They squeezed into the next phone booth they found, using what was left of Francis’s euros to make the call. Arthur cradled the receiver to his ear, Francis slumped into a corner of the dingy phone booth, back towards the street in case anybody walked by. 

A familiar voice crackled from the other end of the receiver. “Hello?”

“Feliciano!”

There was a sharp crash as the receiver clattered to the ground on the other end.

Arthur could hear Feliciano scramble to pick it up. “England?! How did you -“

“Long story. France and I, we’re in Turin right now.” He reached for a tourist map that had been abandoned on top of the payphone, spreading it open and holding it to the glass with his free hand. “Ah - Cuneo, I think? I think we’re in a town square.”

Francis leaned over to speak into the receiver. “Piazza Galimberti.”

“Yeah, uh, wherever we are, is it possible if you come get us?” 

“Yeah! Of course I will, don’t worry. It’s just…” Feliciano paused for a moment, before adding, “Uh… By any chance, did you drive a blue Renault into Italy?”

Arthur felt a laugh bubble out of him - bitter and tired and oh, _so_ giddy in how pathetically scared he had been. 

Francis eased the receiver out of his hands. “Technically yes - well, no, not anymore. We left it on the side of the road. We don’t have it anymore.”

Feliciano let out a small sigh of relief. “Good. They sent out a public alert for two men in a blue Renault - said you were potential disease carriers fleeing into Italy. Just… Hang around for a bit, yeah? Don’t draw attention to yourselves. I’ll come find you both.”

* * *

Kiku was not in his government sanctioned therapy session. Kiku was in bed, listening to the soft patter of rain against his bedroom window, feeling the warmth of morning sun shining through the blinds on his face. 

This was new. Kiku was never one to defy direct instruction from superiors. In a way, this was his own little act of defiance, a petty swipe at his bosses who didn’t call him back to work and kept him in the dark about everything. 

Kiku’s thoughts drifted to the outbreak, to his people, to the nations he hadn’t seen in months. He realised, as he watched the unnervingly quiet street outside his window, that life was becoming a never ending shuffle between his home and wherever his bosses wanted him to be, if they even wanted him anywhere at all. 

It felt like he had been hurled back into his isolationist years, the days he spent holed up in his room alone, terrified of foreign nations and pressurising trade deals and the outside world. He really hadn’t changed much. 

Kiku moved to draw the blinds back, gently flooding his room in soft, golden light. He hadn’t left his house since his therapy session, and he was running out of dog food for Pochi. 

It was time for a walk. It was about time he left the house anyway.

* * *

The kid who had tugged on the back of Matthew’s hoodie looked no older than twelve.

He turned to face her, arms full with water bottles and bread loaves, realising that he was probably in a bad situation to be attacked right now. Alfred was two blocks away looking for burner phones after throwing their old cells away to prevent government tracing, and Matthew’s baseball bat was still several miles away in their dingy motel room.

Then again, the kid was a whole head shorter than him and was making no move to attack - Matthew was getting paranoid, probably.

“Sorry - uh - can I help you?”

She glanced behind her, checking to see that they weren’t being watched. The tiny convenience store they were in was empty, save for two hooded figures hanging around the slushie machines. “Alfred, give it up, please. There’s been resistance following you for weeks.”

Matthew frowned. “I’m not Alfred.”

“We don’t want to take you in forcefully.” Her voice was getting louder now. One of the figures by the slushie machine turned nonchalantly to look in their direction, his stare cold and blank. “We know what’s going on, and we just want to save our families too. Please, Alfred.”

“I told you, I’m not Alfred.” A cold feeling of dread was creeping down the edge of Matthew’s back. He thoughts flitted back to the night when he met Alfred in the cafe - dazed, disoriented, insistent that someone had tried to kidnap him. Eyes locked on the figures by the slushie machine, Matthew took a step towards the door, grip on the water bottle in his hand tightening. “I don’t know what you want, and I can’t help you.”

“You know what we want, dick!” the man yelled. The kid didn’t even flinch. “We want to live, you ass. Same thing as you powerful folk. Stop lying to your people.”

Matthew took in a shaky breath. He had to be rational. It was a 3 on 1 situation here, and he really wasn’t keen on having to take on a kid to escape. And even if he managed to get away? Alfred was just going to be put in danger again. 

He put his hands up, the water bottles and bread loaves falling to his feet. “I’ll go… I’ll go.”

* * *

Kiku didn’t know what he was supposed to be looking for. 

Beds, nurses, patients, maybe? Instead, he was staring down the decrepit hallway of what was once a school - an old elementary school that his bosses had supposedly converted into an isolation zone for the sick - but there no sign, no hint that it had even been in use since the closure of the original facility. 

He should have suspected something was up the moment he realised that the gates weren’t even locked, that there were no security guards to chase him away or even check his I.D before letting him in. He had scaled the stairs, up and down, at least three times - straining to hear for any sign of life, waiting to bump into a nurse or a patient or _anyone_ to assure him that his bosses hadn’t been lying to his face. 

At some point he gave up, collapsing onto the bottom step, the sack of dog food he had left in the lobby long forgotten. He had only decided to snoop on the building on a whim - but how had this ghost hospital gone completely undetected just like that? 

He let out a harsh bark of laughter - not like there was anyone around to hear him - the buildup of confusion and frustration over the past few months streaming down his face in hot, silent tears. Of course none of the town’s residents had come to check - nobody wanted to contract the disease after all.

* * *

“Do you have any idea where we are?”

It was cold. The strong sea breeze that encircled them sent goosebumps prickling underneath Leon’s thin T-shirt. His head was still foggy with sleep - it felt like mere minutes since he was jostled awake and pushed off the cargo ship, Mei in tow. 

Mei squinted into the distance, her hand shielding her eyes from the splatter of crashing waves around them. 

“I think… I think we’re in South Korea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the gang's finally gettin' back together


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> take a shot of water every time a new character shows up  
> spoiler - that would be 4, stay hydrated kids

Matthew wasn’t sure when exactly they had knocked him out, or how. All he was certain of was the dull throbbing in his head, and the pains in his body from where he had collapsed on the floor. He sat up slowly, rubbing at his face with his sleeve. 

They had put him in some kind of room - nothing but blank, empty walls staring back at him. A cold chill of fear gripped him, sending a burst of adrenaline through his system and jolting him to his senses. He stumbled towards the door, peeking through the thin slip of glass. 

The two men conversing outside his cell were the last two men he had expected to ever run into any time soon. Paul, Alfred’s handler - Matthew recognised him, brooding and quiet in the background of almost every photo Alfred had taken in recent months - the same Paul that a guilt-ridden Alfred had _insisted_ he had shot dead, was standing there, fine as day, looking very irritated as he argued with a much taller man, a man who didn’t look very American at all.

Seeing Ivan Braginsky here, of all places, sent an odd wave of calm crashing over Matthew. 

Matthew hammered against the door with what little ounce of strength he had left, furiously jiggling the doorknob with his other hand in a desperate bid to get the Russian’s attention. Ivan glanced over, and Matthew could see his expression drop from one of quiet anger to genuine relief.

He backed away from the door as Ivan struggled to get it open, and was promptly scooped up into a tight hug once the door gave way. Matthew knew that he and Ivan weren’t that close, but there was something giddy and magnetic in being reunited with a fellow nation like this, and he could tell that Ivan felt it too. 

“ _Privet_ Canada!” Ivan let go of him, bright smile unwavering. “I’m so sorry you had to be brought here like this.”

“What’s going on? What’s with the prison cell?”

“It looks like they mistook you for your stupid brother.” Paul was staring daggers into Ivan’s back, but Ivan did not seem to care. “They insisted on taking… Precautions, after what happened with Alfred, no? Your brother really is so trigger happy, after all.”

Matthew’s head felt heavy. “I have so many questions.”

Ivan let out a low chuckle, leaning over to Matthew and dropping his voice to a whisper. “Trust me, I do too.”

* * *

Yao idly twirled the phone cord around his finger, aware of the way the official behind him was staring holes into the back of his head. The dial tone kept going and going, guttural and more painful to listen to by the second. He’d managed to talk his way into a favour of getting one overseas phone call, under the pretence of ‘checking up’ on the other nations. Whether this deal would still be valid if the other nation did not pick up, Yao didn’t know. 

The cord had wrapped its way down the length of Yao’s middle finger when the dial tone cut off, almost giving Yao a heart attack.

“Beilschmidt residence. Gilbert speaking,” a tired voice drawled on the other end. 

“Prussia?”

Gilbert’s reaction was immediate. “China? What the fuck?” Yao could feel the official behind him stiffen at Gilbert’s use of profanity. “How the hell did you even-“

Yao hushed him. “Watch it! Mind your language. I’m obligated to inform you that we’re on a supervised phone call.”

“Oh.” Gilbert’s voice dropped, all the excitement from mere seconds ago dissipating just like that. “Sorry. What’s this about?”

“I’m…” Yao trailed off. He prayed that Gilbert would somehow or another gather meaning from the vague clues he would have to try to throw at him. “I’m just calling to check on the plum blossoms and orchids I sent over before the lockdown. How are they doing? You know how much I love gardening.”

That was a lie. Yao hated gardening. Gilbert had to have picked up on that.

“Uh huh...?”

“Look, the seeds were sent over by mistake,” Yao loosened the cord from around his finger, leaving angry, red indents on his skin. “Just make sure they’re okay. The plum blossoms and orchids. They’re like kids to me.”

Yao could hear the faint scratching of pencil on paper from the other side, and felt a wave of relief wash over him. “Yeah, I get what you mean. I’ll look out for them.”

* * *

Gilbert spun around in his chair, the phone forgotten on the mantle behind him. “West!”

Ludwig didn’t look up from behind his book. “Hm?”

“What’s Taiwan’s and Hong Kong’s national flowers again?”

* * *

“This can’t be Yong-soo’s place.”

Leon wasn’t sure if he was speaking more to convince Mei, or to convince himself. He could feel the shaky conviction in his words shrivel up the moment the lift doors opened, revealing throngs of reporters crowding outside Yong-soo’s apartment door.

They had heard the commotion long before they entered the building, tired, cold, desperate for shelter. 

Without warning, Mei shoved her way through the crowd, rapping impatiently on Yong-soo’s front door. “Yong-soo!”

One reporter eyed her suspiciously, camera aimed crudely at her face. “Friend of his?”

Leon saw Mei tense up, eyes darting relentlessly from camera to camera with all the tension of a strung up cat. “Friend,” she choked - her Korean had gone rusty from months of disuse - she reeked of foreigner. “What happened to him? What’s going on here?”

A patronising chuckle rippled through the group, and it was only then that Leon realised just how _young_ the both of them appeared at first glance. Mei’s eyes instantly darted over to Leon’s, as if in a silent plea for what to do next. 

“You mean you didn’t see the news?” the reporter remarked dryly. “Apparently we have nation people now.”

Mei didn’t respond. 

Leon felt himself go numb. He had imagined scenarios like this before, played little scenes over and over again in his head whenever he was sure that the world was going to shit, whenever he felt the black hole of public scrutiny play on the edges of his consciousness. The scenarios always differed. Sometimes he had been the trigger, sometimes Arthur, sometimes Kiku, but not like this. This was too sudden. It came too quietly. It didn’t feel real. 

Mei took a small step in Leon’s direction, then another, and another - all the while her eyes fixed blankly in his direction. Leon didn’t know if the throng of humans that surrounded them was watching. Leon didn’t want to look up to find out.

They backed into the lift, riding back down to the ground floor in silence. 

It was cold, but it did nothing to shake Leon out of the trance he had put himself in. 

Mei’s voice was small. “What now?”

“Blue House,” Leon heard himself say. It sounded distant, as if the words weren’t coming out of his own mouth. “If Yong-soo isn’t there, fuck, let them send us back.”

* * *

Feliciano had rattled off question after question for the entirety of their journey to the Vargas residence. 

Francis had long since passed out in the seat beside him, the bastard, leaving Arthur to deflect Feliciano’s questions alone. It was almost impressive how Francis could sleep through the speeding and the bumpiness of their ride - after decades, Feliciano’s driving still hadn’t gotten any better. 

“But, how sure are you that it’s not real?” Feliciano turned back to look at Arthur, his golden amber eyes now wide in disbelief. “I mean, it’s been months of this whole thing going on and now you show up, telling me that-“

Arthur’s sweaty grip on the car handle tightened. “Feliciano, eyes on the road, please.”

“Right! Sorry.” Feliciano turned back in his seat, his wide-eyed stare still following Arthur through the rearview mirror. “It’s just that it all sounds so crazy, you know? It’s not that I don’t trust you! But it just sounds so hard to believe, you know?”

“Trust me, I’m finding it hard to believe myself,” Arthur grumbled, running a hand through his unkempt, dirty blond hair. “How has your brother been?”

“Oh, Lovi?” Feliciano let out a snort, lips curving into a weary grin. “You’ll see.”

The car slowed to a stop as they pulled into the Vargas’s driveway. Their home hadn’t changed in the last few decades since Arthur had visited, a modest, stone-bricked house that blended inconspicuously with the other rows of houses in the neighbourhood. Feliciano got out of the car, twirling his keyring around his finger.

“Oi.” Arthur nudged Francis awake, getting out of the car and pulling the bleary-eyed Frenchman to his feet. 

The door swung open. Lovino, dressed top to toe in a bright yellow hazmat suit, waved a bottle of disinfectant spray in his brother’s face. His voice was muffled behind the mask he had pulled over his mouth. “Arms.”

Without hesitation, Feliciano lifted his arms up, allowing Lovino to spray a cloud of disinfectant at him. Lovino motioned for him to enter the house, eyeing Arthur and Francis with a wary look.

“It’s _really_ not necessary,” Arthur insisted. 

Lovino narrowed his eyes at him. “My house, my rules.”

“My house too, but okay,” Feliciano added from behind him.

Francis let out a weary sigh, walking over to the front door with his arms raised. Lovino sprayed him with what looked like way more disinfectant than necessary, and gestured for him to go in. Then he turned to look at Arthur, eyebrow cocked, almost patronising. “Do you want to sleep on the porch or what?”

Arthur knew that his pride wouldn’t let him take the easy way out. “You know what, I frankly wouldn’t mind-“

“Arthur!” Francis snapped.

“Ugh, fine.” Arthur sauntered over to the front door, watching Lovino spray at him with a pinched look of annoyance.

Francis shook his head, watching the two of them. “How do you live with him?”

Feliciano shrugged, jutting his head in Arthur’s direction. “How are you _married_ to him?”

“Eh, fair enough.”

Now reeking of hospital, Arthur stepped into the house. Lovino slammed the door shut behind them, slowly kicking off his hazmat suit. 

The Vargas brothers had stocked well. Their living room looked like the inside of a storeroom - boxes of disinfectant, toilet rolls, and pasta covering almost every inch of flat surface in the room available. 

“Lovi’s paranoid,” Feliciano remarked from inside the kitchen, rummaging through their overflowing refrigerator. “He refuses to leave the house.”

Lovino scowled at the comment, plopping himself down onto what little space there was left on the sofa. “I’m the reason we’re not dead yet, idiot. Now, are you going to tell me what these two jerks are doing in my house or do I have to ask them myself?”

“You’re really not the reason why you’re both not dead yet, you know.” Arthur picked up one of the boxes of pasta, turning it over in his hands. A thin layer of dust had settled on its surface, and he wasn’t sure if it was even safe to eat anymore. “There is no disease. This whole thing was a ruse set up by our bosses.”

Lovino let out an incredulous snort, turning in his seat to direct his stare of disbelief at his brother. “Is this the cock and bull story he told you to get you to take him in?”

Arthur frowned, putting the box of pasta back on the TV stand. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you’re full of shit.”

“Lovi!” Feliciano whined.

Arthur felt a flicker of irritation rush through him. “Listen, I’ve broken border lines and offended god knows how many of those rich, powerful people trying to use this isolation policy to their benefit, just to get here.” Some part of him was exhausted, some part of him just wanted to leave this until tomorrow morning - but there was that same silly sense of pride that drummed inside him, refusing to let him back down without a fight. “So if you want me to leave you here when the time comes, fuck it, be my guest.”

Instinctively, Arthur shot Francis a look, waiting for him to back him up. The Frenchman looked too tired to care. 

“How about that? I think we’re all tired!” Feliciano laughed awkwardly, with all the forced enthusiasm of a game show host - a pitiful attempt at defusing the bitter tension in the room. Lovino had opted to ignore everybody else, his angry stare stubbornly fixed onto the blank TV screen. “Arthur, Francis, I’ll show you to the guest rooms.”


	7. Chapter 7

Yong-soo was a blubbering, laughing mess when he found them.

There was no way Leon and Mei could waltz in through the gates of the Blue House without revealing themselves, but they’d both agreed that if Yong-soo wasn’t at his apartment home, there would be a high chance that he would have sought temporary residence with his boss. 

And so they waited, crouched between the trees that lined the road towards the gates of the Blue House, waiting, praying for Yong-soo to show up, somehow. It was chilly, the frigid wind biting incessantly at Leon’s exposed ears and cheeks. Mei’s own face had flushed red in the cold. The two huddled together quietly, Mei having slung her woollen cardigan over the both of them for warmth.

Leon was drifting, the weight behind his eyes getting heavier and heavier as he struggled to keep his knees from buckling. He leaned against the tree for support, slowing feeling himself slip into the welcoming jaws of sleep, when a familiar cry jolted him back to consciousness.

“GUYS!” 

Leon looked up, barely registering what was happening as Yong-soo barrelled into them, an arm swung around each of them to pull the three nations into a tight hug. Yong-soo was shaking, laughing, mumbling something incoherent in Korean. Leon could feel wet tears drip onto his shirt. 

It was cold, but standing there with Yong-soo and Mei safe by his side, sent a warm flurry of emotion cascading over him. He gripped the back of Yong-soo’s jacket tighter, willing himself not to let his own tears spill. Seeing Yong-soo like this in the flesh, hugging too tightly, laughing too loudly, all in typical Yong-soo fashion - just didn’t feel real. It had been _months_ since they’d last made contact. 

Beside him, Mei burst into a mixture of tears and peals of laughter. Leon buried his face into Yong-soo’s shoulder and did the same.

* * *

“Why are they all staring at us?”

Yong-soo shot Mei an amused look, reaching for a slice of beef. “For starters, you don’t look very Korean.”

Leon raised an eyebrow at him from over his soup. “Are you sure it’s not because of you, _Korea_?”

“Well - _yeah_ , of course it is! But don’t call me that in public -“ Yong-soo met Leon’s gaze with a pointed smirk, that same look he would give his siblings when they were children and he wanted to mess with them when Yao’s back was turned. “- _Hong Kong_.”

“Are you two that desperate to get us into trouble?” Mei murmured, throwing the boys across her a warning look. 

Yong-soo’s smirk grew even wider. “I don’t know, are we, Hong Ko- _ouch_!” 

Mei had reached across the table, grabbed Yong-soo’s ear, and twisted it with all her might. Leon had to bite on his tongue to keep himself from laughing. “Im Yong-soo,” she said brightly, lowering her voice so that the other restaurant patrons would not hear her, “You are going to get us - deported.”

Yong-soo’s hands flew to his reddening ear, desperately prying himself free from her grip. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

Satisfied, she let go of him with a triumphant grin. “It’s been too long since I got the chance to do that.”

“So, like, with Yao not around, does that mean I have to be the adult here?” Leon said. 

“But I’m _older_ than both of you!” Yong-soo whined.

Mei pointed an accusing chopstick at Yong-soo over her bowl. “Physically? Yes. But mentally?” She shrugged. “Eh.”

Yong-soo and Mei had begun bickering over who exactly the adult was and who was the one responsible for even reuniting the three of them in the first place. An odd sense of calm washed over Leon. The whole situation felt frighteningly - almost welcomingly - familiar. 

In that moment, it was so easy to pretend that everything had gone back to normal, that the three of them were just catching up over dinner as usual and that the only thing they would have to worry about was fighting over the bill later on. 

He had missed this - he had missed this so, so much.

* * *

Dinner was a quiet affair. 

Between the occasional scrape of fork against plate as Lovino stabbed angrily into his food, and Feliciano’s repeated attempts at making conversation, a lot less talking was going on than Arthur had hoped for. 

Lovino had headed straight to his room after dinner, giving neither Arthur nor Francis room to try and talk to him. Feliciano had rigorously denied any help to clear the plates from Arthur or Francis, insisting that they stay in their seats and that he wouldn’t take long.

Normally, Arthur would have taken the opportunity to quip at Francis - something along the lines of _I told you so_ \- a bitter jab at how Francis’s dumb plan had gone completely south. Yet, Arthur took one glance at the wistful look in his husband’s eyes and the sharp stab of guilt that hit him for even _thinking_ of doing that was enough to convince him otherwise.

Feliciano had returned with three glasses of wine in his arms, and a mobile phone in hand.

“Feliciano you absolute saint, I needed this,” Francis murmured, gratefully accepting his own glass. 

Arthur eyed the three glasses Feliciano had set on the table. “None for your brother?” 

“Ah, well, it’s not like he’s coming down any time soon,” Feliciano shrugged, in a strangely matter of fact way that hinted that he was far too used to situations like this. 

“What’s got itself wedged up his posterior, anyway?” Arthur grumbled. 

Feliciano leaned back in his chair, scratching sheepishly at the back of his neck. His own glass remained untouched in front of him. “We got into a bit of an argument before I picked you guys up. Don’t worry! He’ll be over it by morning.”

Francis’s gaze met the Italian’s, brows furrowed in a gentle look of concern. Sometimes, Arthur forgot just how close Francis had been to the Vargas brothers as children. “Argument?”

“Yeah…” No matter how many times Feliciano and Lovino had argued over the centuries, Feliciano never looked any less bummed at the end of it. “He’s just scared that we’ll get in trouble with our bosses for harbouring the both of you in our house. Not just any foreigners, you know? Actual _nations_ \- England and France - especially when things are getting so secretive and tense now.”

“Feliciano, I’m so sorry-“

“No,“ Feliciano cut Francis off firmly, shaking his head. “No, don’t be. I trust you guys, you know? And I don’t know if this will be much help, but…” He slid the mobile phone he had brought across the table to Francis. “I don’t know if this will be much help, but I stole this from my handler a while ago. Remember how they cut off Internet access to the entire world? For some reason, I found out that a lot of our bosses’ devices aren’t affected.”

This was new. Francis gave the mobile a brief look-over, and handed it over the table to Arthur. Feliciano continued talking. “If any of the other nations manages to get their hands on Internet access, somehow, maybe we can communicate with them. It’s a long shot, but maybe we can reason with our bosses if enough of us know about what they’re trying to cover up. Maybe we can find out about what’s going on with the others, heck, maybe we could go and look for them ourselves!”

“It’s too dangerous to try and expose them alone,” Francis mused.

“Exactly.” Arthur turned the mobile phone over, feeling an odd sense of hope in the little metal device he had clutched in his hands. “Looks like we’ll be getting the gang back together.”

* * *

Ivan had brought Matthew a quilt and a mug of hot chocolate, both of which Matthew were immensely grateful for. The two nations sat facing each other, cross-legged on the cold stone tiles as Matthew tried to nurse his headache through slow sips of the warm drink. Ivan didn’t speak, his lilac eyes betraying no sign of emotion as he waited patiently for Matthew to finish. 

Matthew put the mug down. “What are you- what are you doing in America?”

“Funny story.” A ghost of a smile was tugging gently at the sides of Ivan’s mouth. “Arthur spoke to me at the last meeting.”

The irony was not lost on him, but Matthew couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What, was he speaking to the entire United Nations now?” 

“He wasn’t exactly speaking _to_ me,” Ivan continued, watching Matthew’s little outburst with a look of displaced amusement. “I overheard him talking about some conspiracy to Alfred - you know how loud Arthur Kirkland can get, especially when he’s frantic and annoyed.” He met Matthew’s gaze with his own, that simper of amusement never really leaving his face. “Which is all the time, if you’re familiar. I assume Alfred has told you about Arthur’s claims of this entire isolation policy being a coverup?”

Matthew nodded mutely, drawing the quilt closer around himself. 

Ivan brought his knees up, wrapping his arms around them and looking for all the world like a child - despite the fact that he was easily six feet tall. “I went to do some digging myself, naturally. I found out that there’s this group of human survivalists who know about this conspiracy, though they’re very under wraps out of the fear of being prosecuted by their governments.” 

Ivan let out a small sigh. He wasn’t looking at Matthew anymore. “If I confronted my own bosses about this - well, you know that there’s no way that would go down well. I didn’t know where else to go, so I just hopped on a plane to America before the Internet and border closure came into effect, went to look for this group. They think that Alfred’s part of the ‘elite’ who get to ditch Earth with his bosses.”

This whole time, the three of them were within the same borders, and neither of them had known. Matthew shook his head. “Then why didn’t you come looking for us?”

Ivan’s response with immediate. “Because I don’t like Alfred.”

“What?”

“I guess I should leave you to rest!” Ivan cut in brightly as he got up, pretending that he hadn’t heard Matthew’s last question. “I’ll come back in the morning.”

“Ivan?”

Ivan turned to look back at Matthew. “Hm?”

Matthew thought back to that night in front of Alfred’s board, when he’d brushed Alfred off while he was trying to explain his theory to him. Granted, Matthew still wasn’t sure if Arthur’s claims were legit of if they had the backing of the Brit’s imaginary friends, but he still couldn’t help but feel a stab of guilt for having dismissed Alfred so easily like that. “Did you tell anyone about this? Your sisters? Yao?”

An unnaturally grave look crossed Ivan’s expression. “I would be damned if I put them through the same kind of risk with their bosses as I did with myself.” There was a brief silence between the two, before the Russian turned back towards the door. “Goodnight, Matt.”

“Wait!” Matthew scrambled to his feet, the quilt that was wrapped around him crumpling to the ground. “Can I go?”

“No,” Ivan stated simply. “They want to use you as a bargaining chip with Alfred’s bosses. I promise I’ll come back for you tomorrow. Please, try to get some rest.”

“But Alfred’s not even-“

“Goodnight, Matthew.”

With that, the door swung shut without another word.

* * *

“Sato-san, the hospitals are completely empty.”

It took about a day for Kiku to pluck up the courage to confront his handler.

“Mr Honda.” The voice that came from the other end of the line was surprisingly gentle, almost as if Kiku’s handler was speaking to a small, scared child rather than a grown man. Kiku did feel a pinch patronised, but that was nothing compared to the churning feeling of worry that was settling uncomfortably in the pits of his stomach. “You are mistaken. I noticed that you haven’t been coming back to see your scheduled therapy sessions?”

“Please don’t change the subject, sir,” Kiku mumbled. He hated talking back to his bosses, but he didn’t know if he would be able to handle another confrontation if he didn’t get answers out by this phone call. He had been turned away without explanation when he tried to speak to any of his bosses in person, so here he was, pacing incessantly outside his Minister’s office with his phone pressed to his face.

“I am not changing the subject,” Sato continued calmly, “These… Accusations-“

Kiku panicked. “I’m not accusing!”

“These accusations are not one that comes from a sound mind,” Sato went on, and Kiku could feel his heart begin to sink. “I will send some officers to pick you up for your session tomorrow morning. This is for your own good, Kiku.”

He knew what he had seen - yet, he wasn’t so sure now that his bosses seemed hell bent on convincing him that he didn’t. 

“Yes, sir,” Kiku responded quietly. “I understand.”


	8. Chapter 8

By morning, Matthew awoke to find that someone had very kindly moved him onto a blow up mattress, leaving a sandwich and a book behind. The book - which Matthew guessed was from Ivan, attempting to bring him some form of entertainment - was entirely in Russian, but he appreciated the gesture nonetheless. 

Matthew wasn’t sure how long he had been awake for, struggling to make sense of the first few paragraphs with his very limited grasp of the Russian language, when he heard his door open. In walked Ivan, a brown bomber jacket not unlike Alfred’s own slung over his arm, with a very grumpy looking Paul by his side. Ivan greeted him with a bright smile, while Paul didn’t bother to look in Matthew’s direction. 

“Good morning, Canada! I trust you slept well?”

Matthew pulled himself up to a sitting position. “Yeah, pretty good.” He paused, gaze shifting uncomfortably between Paul and Ivan, unsure of who he was supposed to thank. “Thank you… For the mattress?”

Paul grunted something inaudible in response. 

Ivan held the jacket out to Matthew. “Put this on.” 

If this was supposed to be a replica of Alfred’s own jacket, it was a damn good one, right down to the stitching of the star insignia he always wore. Ivan handed him a comb, and Matthew didn’t need help piecing two and two together.

“You want me to pretend to be Alfred?”

Ivan looked at him, an amused look playing on his childlike features. Next to Paul, Ivan didn’t even appear to be living in the same timeline as him or Matthew. He was far too relaxed, far too calm, and that alone was strangely off-putting - considering the recent circumstances. 

On any other nation, it would have come off as frighteningly sinister, but this was Ivan and Matthew had to remind himself that this was just the way Ivan had been for hundreds of years. “Oh, good that you mentioned it! Now it won’t be so awkward having to ask you to do all that.”

Matthew hesitated, jacket still clutched in his hands. “What’s the plan? What’s going on?”

“Since those idiots couldn’t even get America, we’ll have to make do.” Up close, Matthew could see the outline of bandages wrapped around Paul’s torso from under his shirt. Alfred had shot him alright, but Paul was nowhere close to dead. “The President is fond of Alfred - they’re not going to leave Earth without him. If he knows that we have him, they’ll hear us out.”

“You’re grossly overestimating how much our bosses give a shit about us,” Matthew replied flatly.

“No harm trying.” Ivan had taken out a camcorder from his coat pocket, and Matthew quickly realised that there was no getting out of this for him. With a sigh, Matthew pulled the jacket on, a sick feeling of guilt hitting him as he realised that where ever Alfred was, he was probably worried sick.

Ivan looked through the camcorder. “Now try your best America impression, will you?”

* * *

Ludwig walked back to the car, arms open in an empty-handed shrug. Gilbert sighed, leaned back in his seat, and struck the shipping port off his list. As much as he was disappointed, his ass was starting to hurt from the last few hours he’d had it planted firmly in the driver’s seat. 

“No sign of them here either,” Ludwig muttered, strapping himself in next to his brother. “There’s only so many cargo ports still open, but there’s also only so many times we can go before our bosses get suspicious.”

“Well,” Gilbert began, handing the notebook back to Ludwig as he stuck the key in the ignition. “There’s always tomorrow! Let’s just go home and get dinner, I’m starving.”

“Gil?”

“Hm?”

Ludwig paused, lightly tapping the pencil on the page where Gilbert had scribbled _plum blossoms and orchids_ the day before. “How are you so sure that China was referring to Hong Kong and Taiwan? What business would they have being sent here?”

“I don’t know, man. Things have been weird lately.” Gilbert hummed, pulling the car into the highway. “We’ll try again tomorrow, yeah?”

* * *

Arthur entered the living room, setting down a pot of tea and a plate of singed toast between Feliciano and Francis. They had been looking through the phone for hours now - dinner turned into supper, and supper slowly crept into the ungodly hours of breakfast time. 

He wasn’t sure if it was the giddy adrenaline of possibly contacting the others again, or just the pent up stress that had built up from over the last few hours, but neither he nor Francis were eager to call it a night. Feliciano was visibly exhausted - red-eyed, dazed, but he insisted that he would feel bad if he went to bed and left the two of them to it alone.

Francis looked up at the meal with an unabashed look of disgust. “Arthur, _dear_ , you could have just told me that you were hungry.”

Arthur scowled. “Well, too bad. You’re eating this or you’re eating nothing.”

“I’m so tired,” Feliciano whined, leaning down to rest his head on the table. 

Snooping through texts and emails on the phone for any additional information was out of the question. Most of the apps were password protected, yet Arthur had stubbornly insisted on writing out every possible combination while Francis and Feliciano looked through what was left of the Internet for any sign of activity from the other nations. 

Arthur was about to reach for a slice of bread, when he heard a sudden thumping of frantic footsteps from behind him. Lovino had made it halfway down the stairs, dishevelled and still in his pyjamas, white knuckled grip clutching onto the banister. “You two, hide. Our bosses’ car is coming up the driveway.”

It took about a second for the information to sink in, the three still dazed from exhaustion, until Francis abruptly yanked Arthur by the wrist out of his chair. The sudden pain snapped Arthur back to his senses, and he tugged his wrist back. “What the hell are they doing here?”

“I told you this would happen,” Lovino scowled, directing a scathing look in his brother’s direction. 

“D-don’t look at me like that!” Feliciano stuttered, face flushed in panic. 

The distant rumbling of a car’s engine was getting unnervingly louder, and Arthur could feel a sick feeling of dread creeping down his back. Grabbing Francis by the arm, Arthur pulled him along as they scrambled up the stairs and into Lovino’s bedroom. 

He could hear the front door open from downstairs, and the sound of what must have been government officials speaking to the Vargas brothers in muffled Italian. Lovino’s room was big and spacey, with clothes and random junk strewn around in a mess that he probably hadn’t bothered to clean in weeks. 

Francis’s response was immediate. “Under the bed.”

“What?” Arthur snapped around to look at him in disbelief. “That’s the first place they’d check!”

“Well we don’t have much of a choice, do we?” Francis shot back. 

The dampened sound of footsteps had started again. Francis grabbed onto Arthur, pulling them both underneath the bed and yanking the sheets over the gap between the mattress and the floor. Only a little light could shine through the thick material, and Arthur could feel Francis’s sweaty grip on his hand tighten. 

The door to the bedroom creaked open, Arthur counting what must have been three or four pairs of footsteps enter the room. Feliciano was going on and on in hurried Italian that Arthur couldn’t quite make out, while what must have been one of his government officials cut him off in a firm voice. 

That, he could understand - _You shouldn’t be so nervous if you have nothing to hide._

Arthur could hear the sound of a cupboard door unlatching. Feliciano and Lovino’s bosses were here for them, looking for them, and they knew to start looking at the Vargas’s home. Beside him, Francis let out a shaky breath. 

The cupboard door slammed shut, and now the footsteps were starting to get closer and closer to the bed. Arthur’s heart was slamming against his chest now, his other hand unconsciously reaching for the hunting knife he always kept in his boot, just in case, when-

“Alright, this is ridiculous. Everyone, _out_ of my room! Now!” 

The footsteps stopped. Arthur had never been more relieved to hear Lovino’s voice.

The official spoke again, his voice wavering just a little bit this time - hesitant. “Mr Vargas, you know this is a matter of internal security.”

“Internal security my ass! I am your _country_!” At this point, Arthur wasn’t even sure if Lovino was acting or not. “You have no right to come in here and look through my shit! I will not stand for being treated like a criminal _without evidence_ by my own people!”

The official spoke up again, a feeble attempt at regaining control of the situation at hand. “But the people who came in illegally are nations, and they could be-“

“They are not my _friends_ and you will leave my house _immediately_.”

A silence fell over the room. Francis’s grip on Arthur’s hand was beginning to loosen.

“Of course, Mr Vargas.”

Arthur held his breath as the sound of footsteps began to subside, until the bang of the front door closing from downstairs signalled that the coast was clear. He gingerly crawled out from underneath the bed, only to see Francis and Feliciano laughing and pulling a very unwilling Lovino into a hug. 

Lovino and Arthur exchanged a deadpan look. 

“Now, what was that all about not being our friends, Lovi?” Francis teased. 

“Goddamnit, it was a bluff, we got lucky this time!” Lovino snapped, pulling himself free from the two nations.

Arthur quirked an eyebrow in Lovino’s direction. “So much for my cock and bull story, huh?”

“That doesn’t mean I buy a single word of what you said,” Lovino retorted. “Sorry for not wanting to go to jail because of you and the snail slurper hanging around my place all day.”

Francis looked mildly insulted. “ _Snail slurper_?”

“It sounds to me like you’re coming around,” Feliciano muttered in a small voice.

“I am not!”

* * *

They had prescribed him medication. They’d told him that he was hallucinating, that there was no hospital to begin with. He was seeing things that wasn’t there, and the only way he could fix that would be by taking the medication given to him.

His explanations - no, his _excuses_ \- were beginning to wear thin the more he tried to reason with his therapist, his handler. 

He knew what he saw - but that’s what people who hallucinate _think_ they know. He hadn’t been having issues like this before the empty hospital - but how was he to know how much of his memories were real and how much were not?

No, Kiku’s bosses were gaslighting him. But no one else but him seemed to think that way. 

“Kiku.” 

Kiku shuddered at the sudden use of his first name. It was too informal, too personal - too invasive. He didn’t like it. “Yes?”

“This is for your own good.”

There it was again. The same thing that they’d insist, over and over again - it was all for his own good. His bosses were good people. His bosses always had the best interests of his people and himself at heart. Kiku was being paranoid, and his wavering trust in them was unbecoming of him. 

“We are putting you under close watch to make sure you recover.”

They had locked him - no - _moved_ him to this new house with eyes and ears everywhere, cameras positioned in every corner of the house to monitor him, to look out for him. No, this wasn’t a _cell_. His bosses had no reason to put him in a cell. 

A small part of Kiku still thought that the whole thing seemed a little overkill to him. 

The speaker crackled to life again. “Do you have any other questions?”

It slipped out of his mouth before he could even consider it. “When can I go home?”

“When we’re sure you’re well enough to be re-integrated back into society. Please, take your medication and rest.”

There was no point second guessing himself or his bosses at this point - there was no getting out of this for him anyway.

* * *

“Can you try acting a little bit more like a hostage?”

Matthew frowned, blinking slowly in Ivan’s direction. They’d been at it for two hours already, but none of the takes seemed to be ‘realistic’ enough. It didn’t matter how many times Matthew insisted that Alfred’s bosses wouldn’t care - Paul was acting as if this hostage video would be their ticket to getting out of this entire mess, and Ivan was happy to enable him, for reasons completely unknown to Matthew. 

“Can we - I don’t know, try again tomorrow?” Matthew suggested. Giving up was out of the question for Paul, that much he knew, so this would have to be the next best option. 

Ivan shrugged. “I don’t know if-“

He was cut off as a loud crash thundered from somewhere outside the room, followed by a cacophony of yelling. Paul shot up almost immediately, rushing towards the door to see what was going on outside. Ivan didn’t flinch.

Matthew scrambled to his feet. “What’s going on?”

Paul didn’t respond immediately, but when he turned to look back at Matthew, his already worn face now looked like it was drained of all colour. “America’s here. And he brought the cops with him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit i'm so sorry this update came out later than expected.... i've been pretty busy with school stuff lately :((
> 
> do leave a kudos/review if you'd like, and thank you for following this dumb fanfic so far!


	9. Chapter 9

Alfred burst into the room, his wide-eyed, frantic expression instantly softening with relief as he caught sight of Matthew. The two junior looking police officers that were trailing behind him stopped short at the door, unsure of whether or not they were allowed to proceed. Paul had long since made a run for it, but Matthew had a feeling that he wouldn’t be getting far, if the commotion and noise outside was any indication. 

“Matt!” Alfred looked like he hadn’t slept in days - eyes red and bloodshot as he stumbled over to pull Matthew in for a hug. Over his shoulder, Ivan regarded the American with a narrowed look of annoyance. Alfred didn’t seem to notice, pulling back to look Matthew up and down. “Hang on, where’d you get this jacket from? And why do you look like me?”

Ivan hadn’t moved from his spot, leaning against the wall with the camcorder still in hand. His voice was light, yet it still dripped with that icy edge that seemed to surface every time he spoke to Alfred. “So you really got your government dogs to storm the resistance.”

Alfred snapped around to look at Ivan, his confusion instantly dropping to a look of irritation at the unpleasant surprise. “Wait, what the hell are _you_ doing here Russki?” 

“Could ask you the same thing,” Ivan responded coldly. 

One of the officers looked at Ivan, then back at Alfred, uncertain. “Is this…?”

“Russia. Yeah.”

Something wasn’t right. Matthew’s grip on Alfred’s arm tightened as he realised that the officers by the door had been watching them - watching Alfred. Alfred had run back to his bosses for help. “Al,” he murmured, “Why did you go back to your bosses for help?”

Alfred averted his gaze as he nodded silently to the two officers. One of them made a move towards Ivan, while the other took a step in the brothers’ direction. “Look, between getting in trouble with the law and you being in danger…” He trailed off, a guilty look crossing his face. “At least I know my bosses aren’t the bad guys… I think.”

Behind them, Ivan muttered something in Russian.

Alfred picked up on it immediately. “What did you say to me?”

“I said,” Ivan repeated calmly, “ _Придурок_. You’re a fucking moron.”

“ _You_ shut up,” Alfred snapped, “You’re with the people who kidnapped Canada and who’ve been stalking me this entire time. I don’t trust you.”

The noise outside the room had begun to subside, and Matthew could see more officers crowding the door - armed with helmets and guns that seemed more suitable for apprehending serial killers than deportation. Matthew saw one of the officers put handcuffs on Ivan - Ivan, who could have easily snapped the officer’s neck in one swift motion, wasn’t bothering to put up a fight. 

Alfred shook his head. “My bosses aren’t the bad guys.” Whatever conviction he was trying to inject in his voice wasn’t coming out - it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than convince Matthew. 

Matthew thought back to the kid in the convenience store. _We just want to save our families too!_ “I don’t think these people are bad guys either, Al.”

The officer had started closing the distance between herself and Matthew. Matthew took a step back, then another. 

Alfred wasn’t meeting his gaze anymore. “I’m sorry, Matt. I’d rather you deported than in danger.”

Matthew’s back hit the wall.

* * *

“Punch me in the face.”

That wasn’t the first thing Yong-soo had expected to hear when he stopped by Leon and Mei’s motel, grocery bags of supplies in his arms. It wasn’t just the request that threw him off - it was the way Leon had said it, eyes wide in a subdued kind of desperation that he looked like he was trying his best to hide. Yong-soo’s gaze slowly trailed down to Leon’s fists hanging weakly by his sides, reddening slightly in the first stages of bruising.

Yong-soo shouldered past him into the room, slowly setting the bags down on the floor. “Okay, okay. As much as I’d love to, you gotta tell me why so I don’t feel so bad doing it. Where’s Mei?”

Leon shut the door behind him. There was no way that Yong-soo could bargain with his ministers to let Leon and Mei stay with him at the Blue House without raising suspicion, so he’d given them cash to stay at a motel until they figured out what to do next. “I think she went to check out the cargo ports in the area. Now hurry up and punch me in the face.”

Yong-soo held up his hands in mock surrender. “Dude, whatever kinky stuff you’re into, save it for your Icelandic boyfriend.”

Leon’s face turned red. “He’s not my boyfriend. And stop taking the piss outta me and punch me in the face already.”

“Why?” 

Yong-soo stumbled back as Leon’s fist suddenly connected with his face. A burst of adrenaline rushed through him as the shock of pain stung angrily in his cheek, and he moved to punch Leon square in the jaw. 

Leon’s right hand flew instinctively to his face, his left flung in front of him to signal for Yong-soo to back off. Yong-soo took a step back, watching blood run from Leon’s mouth and through his fingers, dripping onto the matted carpet below. Yong-soo winced, his sudden burst of energy quickly dissipating as he watched Leon stagger backwards and onto the bed. “Fuck, sorry. You okay?”

“Yeah,” Leon mumbled, drawing his hand back. He tilted his head up, blood dribbling from his mouth. “You didn’t even hit me that hard.”

“I didn’t even hit you that hard?!” Yong-soo knelt down to rummage in the bags for a tissue. “You’re crazy.”

Leon glanced down to look at Yong-soo. Whatever colour from earlier had drained from his face, but his expression was oddly calm. “I wasn’t coughing blood anymore, so I got worried.”

“You really do have a blood kink, huh,” Yong-soo grumbled, pulling out a pack of tissue paper. 

“It’s not that!” Leon snatched the tissue from him. “I hit you just as hard as you hit me just now. And are you bleeding?”

Yong-soo blinked. The pain in his cheek had disappeared as quickly as it came. “No.”

“Exactly. You’re still healing like a nation, dumbass. I’m not.” Leon sighed, dabbing at the inside of his mouth. He took the tissue out, now damp with blood. “Yao’s bosses have been moving people off my land. I’m not even healing anymore - I’m losing my nationhood.”

“That’s why you and Mei wanted to go to Germany to talk to Prussia.”

“Mei’s scared that I’ll turn human, contract the disease that’s been going around, and die.” Leon shrugged, scrunching the tissue up and aiming it at the wastepaper basket. He missed. “So she thinks that the sooner we get Prussia to reveal his secret of dead nation immortality, the better.”

Yong-soo pulled a can of orange juice out from one of the plastic bags, and threw it over to Leon. “Honestly. How on board with this idea are you?”

Leon snapped the tab of the can open. “I’d fight Yao’s bosses to save my sovereignty myself, but I don’t see the point in fighting for the sake of immortality itself.” He wasn’t meeting Yong-soo’s gaze, and he brought the can to his mouth. “I’m living and dying as Hong Kong, on my own terms.”

Yong-soo had guessed that Leon would say something like that. As apathetic and indifferent as he had been from childhood, Leon had a fierce, unshakable flame of pride that could never be extinguished. 

That was the one aspect that Leon had so fiercely taken after Yao. 

The door to the motel room swung open as Mei burst in, a crumpled map of Seoul clutched in her hands. She didn’t seem to notice the ball of bloodied tissue by her feet. “Oh, Yong-soo! You’re here too! Okay, I managed to bribe one of the coastguards with the money Yong-soo got us. There’s a cargo ship headed for a port in Bremen, and we can take a train to Berlin from there. We’ll have to get to Incheon by-“ She paused, noticing the unusual silence from the two boys. “Did I miss something?”

“Mei…” Yong-soo trailed off, unsure of how best to phrase his next statement. “I think it’s better for Leon to go home. Try to get Yao to bargain with his bosses in letting Leon’s people return to his land. There’s no use going all the way to Germany to try to talk to Prussia.”

“There’s no use trying to get Yao to do anything,” Mei scoffed. 

Yong-soo was about to argue, when Leon wearily put his hand up to cut him off. “It’s okay. There’s like, no harm going to Germany, so whatever. I’ll go.”

The hidden camera threaded into Yong-soo’s coat had gotten everything it needed.

* * *

The sudden bang of his bedroom door opening snapped Feliciano out of unconsciousness, and as tempting as it was to roll back into the sheets and let sleep cloud over him again, Francis’s yell of “I’ve cracked it!” was enough to whip him back to attention. 

“Wh-what?” Feliciano mumbled, rolling over to face the door. He fumbled for the clock on his bedside table. It was almost 6a.m. - Arthur and Francis had been pulling another all nighter over the phone. 

“And that was-“ Arthur lifted up the notepad, squinting at the mess of numbers and strikethroughs scrawled in the Brit’s cursive script. “Attempt number 6246. God is not being kind to us.”

Feliciano pulled himself up to a sitting position, feeling a slight tinge of guilt at having left the both of them to work on the phone alone. “Manage to find anything?”

“Well, it’s just this one newsfeed looking app we got open - everything else is locked under different passcodes.” Francis handed the phone over to Feliciano. Arthur grumbled something along the lines of _another bloody 6000 tries_ , leaning against the doorframe. 

Upon closer inspection, it didn’t resemble a newsfeed as much as it did a server for announcements and messages. Feliciano‘s eyes darted through the slew of different languages, hitting the option to translate all messages to Italian. 

All posts had been location tagged. _Japan_ \- nation avatar has been compromised and isolated. _Hong Kong_ \- transportation of citizens successful, land has been cleared. _United States_ \- Russian, Canadian and American nation avatars have been apprehended, no evidence of data breech yet.

Francis, who had been reading over Feliciano’s shoulder, sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. “My Italian isn’t great. Did I read the last one wrong?”

“Arrested.” Feliciano would have much rather preferred hiding in blissful ignorance, but he kept scrolling, forcing himself to scan and scan as his teeth dug deeper and deeper into his tongue. His grip on the phone was getting weaker, suddenly grossly aware of how sweaty his hands were getting. “A lot of them are getting arrested.”

Arthur hadn’t moved from his spot against the doorframe. Feliciano was vaguely aware of how upset he must have looked - as Francis plucked the phone out of his slackened grip, guilt crossing his tired expression. “Arthur and I - we’re going to try cracking some of the other passcodes. Go back to bed. We can talk about this in the morning.”

Feliciano didn’t go back to bed. He could hear the hushed arguments between Francis and Arthur as they left his room - _What the hell did you wake him up for? Now you’ve gone and upset him you bloody tosser._ An optimistic part of him wanted to talk some sense into his bosses, over a coffee or a meal and then everything would be okay, but he wasn’t stupid enough to trick himself into believing something like that either.

He must have been in bed for over an hour, staring blankly up at the ceiling, listening to muffled dialogue fade as Francis and Arthur eventually gave up and went to bed. 

Feliciano got out of bed at some point, padding quietly down the hall to where his brother’s room was. Lovino would not appreciate getting woken up this early for a chat, but Feliciano was beginning to feel that his head might explode if he continued steaming over his thoughts alone. He turned the doorknob to Lovino’s room gently, careful not to make any noise, and poked his head in to look.

“Lovi?” No response. Feliciano fumbled for the light switch. 

Lovino’s bed was empty.

* * *

Matthew’s wrists were starting to ache. They had put him, Alfred and Ivan in the back of a police van, cuffed, and neither of the two were making for particularly fantastic company. The tension between them was chillingly palpable, and Matthew wanted no part in it. 

Alfred was getting bored. His knee had been bouncing uncontrollably for the past fifteen minutes of the ride, and he kept poking Ivan with verbal sticks - trying to illicit a reaction out of him like a kid looking for temporary amusement. “Okay, _fine_ , if you don’t want to tell me what you’ve been up to with your new buddies, at least tell me what’s going through that dark little head of your’s.”

The van hit a speed bump, causing Ivan’s head to smack against the roof of the vehicle. Alfred sniggered. 

“I’m devising an escape plan.” 

Matthew couldn’t tell if Ivan was mocking Alfred or not. Either way, Alfred didn’t seem to pick up on it.

“Without letting your fellow arrest buds in on it?” Alfred leaned in closer to Ivan, feigning a look of hurt. Ivan frowned, scooting as far away from Alfred as he could manage.

This was going to be a long ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my favourite thing rn is writing about alfred and ivan being dicks to each other


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no i’m not dead  
> jokes aside, i’m so sorry this chapter took so long to come out. school has recently started for me and it’s been sapping a lot of my energy lately (especially since it’s my final year rn…. haha)  
> while i’m here i just wanna thank you guys for taking the time to follow this story, and/or to leave kudos and/or comments, you guys are too kind and i’m extremely grateful for all of yall <3

Feliciano darted downstairs to the kitchen, clumsily fumbling for the landline with trembling hands. Internally, he was cursing himself for not shutting Lovino up from cussing out the officials from earlier. 

He didn’t know why his mind had jumped straight to the assumption that their bosses had something to do with Lovi’s disappearance. It didn’t feel good. 

Lovino picked up almost immediately. Feliciano let out a shaky sigh of relief, his grip on the phone loosening. “Lovi! Where are you?”

Feliciano heard Lovino let out an irritated grunt, and what sounded like shouting in peals of Spanish and Italian from the other end. “Listen up, idiot. You stay inside. _Don’t_ get involved. It’s like kangaroo court out here.” Lovino paused to put a hand over the phone, yelling at the people behind him to shut up. The shouting subsided. “Antonio needs me to bail him out of jail. So don’t make shit any more difficult for me than it needs to be right now, okay? Call you in a bit.”

Feliciano blinked. “Antonio?”

“Yes! You heard me! It’s like I can’t catch a fucking break these days! Now go back to bed, for God’s sake! It’s like six in the morning!”

Feliciano wasn’t sure if it was him growing far too used to his brother’s temper, or if it was the sleep deprivation. “Where are you? What’s going on with Toni?” He didn’t notice the dead dial tone left chiming back at him. “Lovi? Lovi?”

* * *

Lovino scowled, stuffed his phone back into his pocket, and turned back to the frightened looking officer he had been chewing out for the past ten minutes. His patience was really starting to wear thin. “I’ll ask you one more time. I am asking to speak to Mr Fernández. Now if you don’t-“

“Mr Vargas?”

Lovino had to bite on his tongue to stop the string of curses threatening to spill from his lips. “President Rossi. Good day.”

“Lovino! What are you doing here?” Rossi had his hands out, palms open - a strangely inviting gesture that was making every hair on the back of Lovino’s neck stand. He hadn’t seen Rossi in person in ages. Not since he and Feliciano had been hastily shovelled from their already limited duties in government, and seeing Rossi again like this was sending him all kinds of the wrong signals. 

“I heard about the Spanish ferry,” Lovino muttered. 

“Is that it, my boy?” Rossi wasn’t buying it, and he clearly wasn’t bothering to try and hide it. “Are you aware that your good friend Antonio was onboard the ferry that docked at Rome as well?”

Lovino hands were unconsciously bunching into fists at his side. “No.”

The guards accompanying Rossi had long since ushered the other civilians out of the police station. Now that Lovino had gotten the peace and quiet he’d been yelling for over all that commotion earlier, there was a sickening feeling of dread kicking around in his chest. He wanted to shrink back into the mess of the crowd he’d been yelling over. 

“Well, Lovino-“ Rossi’s stare flicked over to the police officer Lovino had been arguing with. “You might want to talk to him.”

“What?” Lovino couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

The police officer didn’t seem to understand what was going on either. “But Mr Fernández is in questioning-“

“Go on.” Rossi had his hand on Lovino’s shoulder, nudging him forward with all the care of a parent bringing a toddler for their first day of school. “Bring Mr Vargas in to see him.”

* * *

Matthew craned his neck as far as the bars of his holding cell would let him. No sign of Alfred. He hadn’t expected Ivan to be put in a cell right across from his, and even though Ivan hadn’t spoken a word to him since the car ride, he wasn’t complaining.

The cold, grey corridor stared silently back at him. The assumption that he and Ivan were just going to be deported and sent home had been chucked completely the moment they put _Alfred_ in handcuffs. 

The door at the end of the corridor opened, revealing Alfred - his wrists free but lips pressed in an uncharacteristically uncomfortable grimace. Two cops were escorting him, and the sight alone was surreal enough - seeing Alfred being treated like a criminal on his own land.

Alfred nodded in Ivan’s direction. “You’re up, buddy.”

Matthew watched quietly as Ivan was escorted out of his cell and through the same door that Alfred had entered from. One of the cops faltered, turning to look back at Alfred.

Alfred held a hand up. “Hey dude, I can talk to him myself.”

The door swung shut, leaving Alfred and Matthew alone. Alfred ran a hand through his hair, eyes darting towards the security camera perched in the upper corner of Matthew’s cell. Matthew frowned, following his gaze, as his hands closed unconsciously around the metal bars that separated them. “What happened back there? Are you okay?”

“Yeah! They just asked me a bunch of questions. Standard stuff.” Alfred glanced up at the camera again, then back at Matthew, a silent signal for Matthew to watch his mouth. “They can’t send you and Ivan home yet, they’re still dealing with the… Cultists-“

“I don’t think they’re a cult…”

“Whatever conspiracy they were talking about? It’s not true.” Alfred was rattling, as if reciting from a script drilled into him by powers that were not his own. “In fact, my bosses are actually gonna let the borders come down.”

Matthew blinked at him. “That’s not possible.”

“It is. No more isolation. It’s not needed anymore. They’re putting the Internet back up. Everything’s gonna go back to the way it was. They just need to keep us around for a bit for the whole cult investigation. Okay, Matt?”

His last sentence was an unsaid plea for Matthew to keep his mouth shut and play along. Matthew nodded.

“Oh, one more thing.” Alfred unzipped his jacket, retrieving the thin, leather bound novel that Matthew recognised as the Russian book Ivan had left for him. “They took this during the arrest. It’s Ivan’s, right? Hold on to it for him.” 

Matthew took the book from between the bars. “What’s going to happen to you?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.” Alfred turned to head back the same way he came, hands stuffed in the pockets of his bomber jacket. That same shit eating grin that he usually wore was back. “See you in a bit.”

The door shut behind Alfred. Matthew sat back down on the floor, idly flipping through the pages of the book. 

Alfred had left him a note, chicken scratch handwriting in faint, barely visible pencil scrawled across the book’s back cover. 

_I’M GONNA CUT THE SECURITY CAMS AND SAVE YOU AND IVAN_

_IVAN I’M NOT SORRY FOR RUINING YOUR DUMB BOOK_

A small part of Matthew had seen it coming. 

This was Alfred. He should have expected something like this to happen.

* * *

“Not to freak you out or anything, but that car’s been following us for half an hour already.”

Yong-soo groaned, tilting the sideview mirror to squint at the white blob reflected on its surface. “Well, it’s not a police car.”

Leon shrugged. “Could be an unmarked police car.”

“It’s probably some stalker I got after I got outed on TV.” Yong-soo frowned, turning the car into a side street in a weak attempt to shake off their follower. “I can drop you guys off somewhere first. If I keep having to dodge this dude you’ll be late to board the ship.”

Mei looked out of the window, then back at the crumpled map in her hands. “You sure you’ll be okay on your own?”

“Just don’t get lost finding the port.” The car slowed to a stop in the middle of a narrow pavement. Yong-soo turned around in the driver’s seat, eyes scanning past Leon and Mei’s heads to check if anyone had followed them. “You two better get going before they catch up.”

And just like that, their brief period of reunion had come to a close. A year ago, Leon would have scoffed at the sloppy feeling of sentimentality that was beginning to tug at his chest - he never got emotional when it came to his siblings, that was just stupid. 

_What am I supposed to say? I’ll miss you? That’s weird._

Sometimes he felt like he didn’t know how to show affection to his siblings. None of them did. Yao was overbearing, Kiku was a brick wall, Mei was a tad aggressive at times and Yong-soo sucked at knowing when he wasn’t wanted. That was just how their family worked. 

Mei had her hand on the door handle, her eyes fixed sternly on Yong-soo. “Don’t get arrested.”

Yong-soo waved her off. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. See you in a couple of weeks, when this whole thing blows over.”

Leon still hadn’t figured out what he was going to say when Mei grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him out of the car. The street they were on was deserted, and judging from the hastily scribbled out circle on Mei’s map, quite a long walk from where they were supposed to be.

The distant rumbling of a car’s engine forced Leon to look up. Mei let out an incredulous noise. The car from earlier was sitting a few meters away from them, two men emerging from the backseat. One of them had a camera perched on his shoulder. 

Mei’s grip on Leon’s wrist tightened. “Reporters. Let’s go.”

Leon pulled Mei along and started running down the street, his shoes hitting the pavement with every heartbeat that pounded in his ears. It was cold - the early days of autumn spreading a dry wintery chill in the air - but he felt so goddamn warm, an uncomfortable warmth of fear clouding in his head. 

Behind him, he could hear the car door open, Yong-soo shouting in Korean - if they were here to film him, here he was. 

Leon stalled, turning to look back at Yong-soo, tall and stubborn in that irritatingly brave way he had always been from childhood. 

Mei yanked him forward and back down the street. “We’ll see him again, Leon. He’ll be fine. Let’s go.”

* * *

Kiku couldn’t remember when was the last time he’d seen the outside of this new place he was forced to call home. 

He’d been taking his meds as instructed, three times a day, one hour after each meal. 

Still, he wasn’t sure what exactly it was supposed to cure. He didn’t remember what he was put in here for, he didn’t remember what the meds were supposed to do, he didn’t even remember how long he’d been in here.

He felt fine. Fine enough. Sometimes he’d tap on the intercom, ask his handler how long more he’d have before he could go home, ask if Pochi was being taken care of, ask if Alfred or Yao or anyone had left any important messages for him.

Sometimes when he was laying in bed, he’d focus as hard as he could, to try and conjure up the most recent memories he had, yet everything would come up blank. 

Days and weeks were blurring into each other. He didn’t know what he was spending his days doing - he didn’t remember. 

Kiku crawled into the futon, pulling the heavy sheets over his head. He had been sleeping a lot more these days.

Oh well.

* * *

“RUN, GODDAMNIT, RUN!”

He had heard Alfred before he’d seen him, the distant pounding of footsteps against concrete quickly getting louder and louder as Ivan and Alfred burst through the door. Alfred stumbled over to Matthew’s cell, fumbling with the thick set of keys in his hand. 

Alarms were going off, loud and piercing as the siren overhead cast glowing rings of red around the confined space of the holding area. When the lock finally gave way, Alfred yanked Matthew out and pulled him along, the three making a run for it out the winding corridors of the station. 

It had gotten the attention of officers they passed, chasing after them, shouting at them and into police radios. No guns were drawn. Alfred still had the protection of his government when it came to the police. 

Ivan was the first to react. “Alfred! Shoot!”

Alfred turned to look behind them, then back at Ivan, incredulous. “I’m not going to shoot them!”

Ivan let out a scornful grunt. “Coward.” He grabbed the handgun hanging precariously from the pocket of Alfred’s jacket, and fired a warning shot into the ceiling. 

“Next one goes into America’s head.”

“Oh, no, you are _not_ using me as hostage, Russki!” Alfred yelled.

They kept going, out into the city streets, the bright overhead billboards shining above them. Ivan fired a few more rounds behind them for good measure. 

They had been running for twenty minutes straight, with no sign of slowing down. The streets were quiet, an odd sense of calm settling over them under the inky black cover of night, nothing following them but the gentle thud of their own footsteps. 

Matthew’s voice came out in a gasp between pants for air. “Where are we going?”

Ivan’s response was curt. “Airport. Look for the others.”

“Gotta beat the rush, you know?” Alfred tone was light, as if they were discussing nothing more than vacation plans. “Now that they’re lifting the border, it’s going to be a mad rush for plane tickets once this gets out.”

Matthew slowed to a stop. “They’re actually opening the borders again?”

Alfred glanced over at Ivan. “Do you want to tell him about what happened in Spain?”

“It’s a long story. Don’t you love hearing the sound of your own voice?” Ivan replied dryly. “Please, do the honours.”

* * *

“What the fuck happened to you?!”

Antonio leaned back in his seat, his bloodied lips turning upwards into a small smile. That look really made Lovino want to punch him sometimes. Lovino was on the verge of panicking at the sight of Antonio, bruised and cuffed to a table, while Antonio was smiling that same, stupid smile of his because he was too idiotic to want to admit to others when he was in trouble.

He made a move to lift his hand, causing his cuffs to rattle against the bar of the interrogation room table. “Oh, I forgot these were here.”

“How the fuck do you even-“

“I already told them everything I know, I don’t know why they thought bringing you here would get any extra information out of me.” Antonio rubbed at his wrist. “I’m mostly just confused about the whole thing. But, it’s good seeing you again Lovi.”

“I’m just glad you’re not dead or anything, idiot.”

Antonio ran a tongue over his cracked lips. “There were times when I thought I was really going to die.” His voice had dropped, bright green eyes averted away from Lovino’s own, staring blankly at the wall behind him. “One of my officials came out with a public statement about…” 

He trailed off weakly, glancing towards the windowed door where Rossi had been watching them. “Anyway, my people were really angry. There were protests, police being sent to chase people back to their homes. My bosses panicked. They lifted the borders and disappeared. God knows where they are now.”

“And then you took a ferry here.”

“People were taking boats and cars to try to look for loved ones from other countries. I needed to see that I wasn’t the only country going through this.” Antonio took a small breath. “Your bosses are trying to round up all of my people who managed to make it into Italy. It’s… It’s not great.” 

“Fuck.” Lovino felt like he was going to throw up. “Fuck. I’ll try to get them to let me bring you back to my place. There’s someone else you should probably be talking to.”


	11. Chapter 11

Lovino frowned as Antonio emerged from the station, eyes darting down to the device wrapped around his ankle. “An ankle bracelet? Seriously?”

Antonio laughed humourlessly. “House arrest at the Vargas residence. Could’ve been worse.”

Lovino let out a grunt of annoyance. He had seen it coming, being hastily shovelled out of the station when he tried bargaining with one of Rossi’s ministers to let Antonio go home hadn’t given him high hopes, but it didn’t piss him off any less. “So what’s the deal, Rossi wants me to play babysitter to you while he sorts out the ferry issue?”

“It’s not just the ferry issue.” Antonio was picking at the ends of his sleeves again, something that Lovino had learnt over the years was a nervous tic of his. “Can we continue this conversation in the car?”

They made their way to the carpark in the silence, a weird feeling of uneasiness drumming away relentlessly inside of Lovino’s chest. It wasn’t until they slid into the driver’s and passenger’s side seat did Lovino let out out a sigh that he didn’t realise he’d been holding. He leaned back against the seat, one arm slung over his face. “Goddamnit.”

“Hey! Hey, it’s okay! It’s gonna be okay.” Antonio patted Lovino’s shoulder awkwardly, a meek attempt at cheering him up. “We’re all together now aren’t we? You, me, Feli - it’s not so bad, kiddo.”

“And France and England.”

Antonio’s hand fell to his side. “ _Arthur_?”

Lovino scowled, sitting back up and sticking his key into the ignition. “Yeah, long story, bastard crashed my house. What happened with your officials?”

“Oh. Right.” Antonio idly ran a hand through his hair, watching as the quiet streets rolled by, the gentle glow of midday sun reflecting back specks of gold into Antonio’s line of vision. 

It was a beautiful day out, really. Being in the car with Lovino - being with another _nation_ to begin with - was a welcome escape from the nights he’d spent alone, writhing from the early aches of civil unrest as his government disappeared and left him for dead. 

“There were already rumours, you know. Conspiracy theories about the lock in being spread long before my borders came down,” Antonio murmured. “There were protests demanding for transparency. Lasted a lot longer than my boss thought they would. One of the ministers panicked and released a statement without my boss’s approval about some coverup -“ He glanced over at Lovino, whose grip on the steering wheel had gone white around his knuckles.

“Yeah. England told me.”

Antonio turned back to the window. “I guess your bosses are scared that this whole thing gets out because of my people running to other countries. That’s why Rossi needs you to keep me out of his hair for now.” A small smile tugged on the sides of his mouth, splitting open a small cut from earlier. He could taste the metallic sting of dried blood on his tongue. “Maybe they’ll finally pull the borders down now that people are starting to know?”

“What, so they can appease the people coming for their ass? So they can act all innocent and pretend that they didn’t know that this was a stupid coverup to begin with? Fat chance,” Lovino scoffed. “That jerk England said that our superiors are ditching it to some other planet while we’re all caught up in this crisis who-ha. They won’t give a shit whether or not people are on to their crap.”

“ _If_ they do,” Antonio hummed. “We should seriously consider getting the other nations together in one place. There’s only so much we can do apart.”

Lovino snorted, pulling the car into the main road.

* * *

Lovino hadn’t picked up any of Feliciano’s calls, and the urge to get on his bike and cycle down to the station himself was getting stronger and stronger by the second. He tapped on his brother’s contact for what must have been the fortieth time that day, feet twirling restlessly as he swung his legs back and forth, kicking at nothing.

He could feel Arthur’s eyes on his back. “Come on, Feliciano. I’m sure your brother’s going to be fine.”

“No, no, no.” Feliciano held the phone against his ear, hating how warm the screen had gotten from use. “You don’t know Lovi, when he’s mad he does stupid things and when he does stupid things he gets himself in trouble and-“

The door swung open. Feliciano leapt up from his place on the couch.

Arthur had been the first to react, his sudden shout of “Spain?!” as Francis pushed past him and darted at Antonio, the two nations clutching at each other and laughing like schoolboys. Lovino pulled the door closed behind him, striding past the two and heading straight for the kitchen. 

Francis pulled away, looking Antonio up and down. “ _Mon dieu_ , I thought we’d have to go back and break you out of jail ourselves.”

“Nah.” Antonio stuck out his leg, pulling at his trousers. “ _This_ is the jail. House arrest. They really don’t want to have to deal with me themselves, y’know?”

“You’re being awfully chipper for someone under house arrest,” Arthur remarked flatly.

The smile Antonio directed towards Arthur’s direction was not entirely devoid of spite. 

“Here’s the deal, idiots,” Lovino called out, emerging from the kitchen. He leaned against the entrance, arms folded over his chest as he sent a pointed glance in Antonio’s direction. “The fact that Antonio’s bosses just up and left like that is gonna toss all the other big boys into all sorts of panic. There’s no telling what the other bosses are going to do, so for god’s sake, do me a favour unlike Mr Fernández here and keep a low profile for now.”

“Not exactly.” Arthur looked up, waving the phone in Lovino’s direction. “For starters, Alfred’s bosses are opening up their borders.”

Antonio was by Arthur’s side in a flash, grabbing the phone from his grasp. “How the hell did you know?”

Arthur grunted, snatching the device back. “Wouldn’t kill you to ask first, would it?”

“Then let’s go back to Spain and find a plane to America from there.”

All heads in the room turned to look at Feliciano. He blinked, frowning slightly, genuinely surprised at the reaction he was getting. “What?”

Lovino pinched the bridge of his nose, air whistling out through clenched teeth. “Number one,” he began, gesturing at Antonio. “If you haven’t been listening - house arrest. Number two-“ He put his hand down, eyes narrowing to angry slits. “What part of low profile do you not get? Just how bored are you sitting at home on your ass since Rossi kicked us out of our duties? Are you an idiot?”

Francis was the first to cut in. “You two, stop it.“

“Bored?” Feliciano’s voice had jumped an octave, quivering slightly with the beginnings of indignation. “Ivan, Matt and Al are all in America, in _trouble_ , and we have an opening to help them! You want us to stand by and do nothing? How am I the idiot in this situation?”

“Who told you that? Fuck, it’s that damn phone isn’t it?” Lovino scowled, taking a step towards Arthur, who immediately jumped off the sofa. “Come on, England. Give it. That thing’s been more trouble than it’s worth.”

“What? No!” Arthur took a few steps back, stuffing the phone in his pocket. 

Feliciano spoke again, a lot quieter. “You can stay here with Antonio, we’ll go and look for the others.” 

“It’s not safe!” Lovino snapped. 

“I’m said I’m going!” Feliciano shouted back. “Stop babying me!”

Antonio put a hand on Lovino’s shoulder. “Maybe we should all calm down a bit-“

“Shut up!”

Feliciano opened his mouth to speak again, but made eye contact with Antonio, who mouthed a silent ‘ _Please don’t_ ’ and decided against it. 

Lovino turned back to his brother, green eyes wide in fierce resolution. “No one’s going anywhere. You got that?”

Francis and Arthur directed silent glances in Feliciano’s direction. Antonio, visibly uncomfortable, looked down at the floor. Feliciano stared at his brother, long and hard in the face, and turned to walk out the front door.

* * *

Matthew hadn’t stopped bouncing his leg, crouched outside the minimart, coffee that had long since gone cold swirling around the paper cup that the airport had given him. Ivan stood beside him, twirling a pencil in one hand and a thin booklet of sudoku puzzles folded in the other. That was the only thing Alfred had told them when they had reached the airport, to go get some supplies while he went to check out the situation of the flights or whatever the hell was going on.

It was cold, dry airport humidity only a little better than the cold they’d escaped from outside. Matthew drew the cheap sports jacket he had gotten from the minimart closer around his frame. 

It had been an hour since Matthew had watched his blonde head bob off into the press of last minute travellers. The hustle and bustle of the throngs that pushed past each other and the panicked chatter that never seemed to die down was a weird picture of the panic that had long since settled over Alfred’s people. 

A pair of black and white trainers that he recognised as Alfred’s own emerged from the crowd. Matthew looked up.

Alfred smiled sheepishly, running a hand through his through his hair. “Hey dudes. Bad news.” 

Ivan snapped his puzzle book closed, tucking it inside his jacket. “Are we stuck here now?”

“What? No. You know how they told me about Spain’s situation and how it meant that it was safe to reopen the borders and whatnot?” Alfred gestured vaguely, holding up air quotes at the mention of ‘safe’. “Yeah, yeah. Not like this was a move to cover their own ass. Anyway, Spain’s out of the question. They’re not letting out any available flights there, so if you guys want to look for the others, we should probably be coming up with an alternative.”

“What about-“

“No, Ivan. We’re not going to Ukraine or Belarus to look for your sisters, your boss is batshit and just a border away and I’m not taking that risk of being locked up for being caught with you.”

Ivan frowned. “I wasn’t going to say that. They kept drilling us on whether we knew anything about the unauthorised Spanish ferry to Italy, right? They wouldn’t have reason to ask us if _one of our own_ wasn’t onboard. There’s a chance that Antonio’s in Italian custody right now.”

“That’s the first useful thing you’ve said all day,” Alfred said.

“Don’t test me, Fredka.”

Matthew groaned. He should have gotten used to this, really - it wasn’t like Alfred and Ivan were passive-aggressively at each other’s throats any less even under normal circumstances, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t getting sick of it. “Can you guys maybe-“

“Oh, and that fake passport you got me?” Ivan tilted his head to the side, regarding Alfred with a curiously cold stare. “ _Alexander Stroganoff_? Really? Like the _dish_?”

Alfred smirked, that shit eating grin spread wide across his face again. “I know, delicious, right?”

Matthew got to his feet, slipping his arms around Alfred and Ivan and pulling them along with him. “I really don’t want to sit and listen to you two bicker all day. Let’s go.”

* * *

It was almost midnight when the knock came at Yao’s door. Normally, he would have been asleep by then, but it had been getting harder and harder for him to relax after that phone call he had had with Gilbert. 

One look through the peephole of his front door was enough to indicate what kind of night he was in for - his handler Zhao, backed by four police officers behind him. Yao sighed, hooked the chain lock onto his door, and pulled the door open a crack. “Can I help you?”

Zhao tapped at the chain that was preventing the door from being opened any further. “Please remove this chain, Mr Wang.”

“Should I bring to your attention that this is way past polite hours for a house call?”

Zhao looked unfazed. “Surely the nation of China should have no issues with his government popping by for an announced visit?” 

“I’m just saying,” Yao grunted, releasing the chain’s latch from the door. “It’s very rude of you to show up this late without a courtesy call. I’m not hiding any rogue nation here, if you’re wondering.”

Yao stepped away from the door, allowing Zhao and his officers to shoulder their way into his house. He let out a small _tch_ of disapproval, folding his arms calmly across his chest. If it weren’t for the fact that he had on a Hello Kitty shirt and pyjama bottoms, he might have hoped to come off as a little more intimidating. “And for heaven’s sake, tell your men to take their shoes off.”

Zhao didn’t say anything, watching quietly as the group of officers split up in different directions.

“Whatever it is you’re here for, I can assure you that you’ll be very disappointed.” Yao stretched, turning to head towards the kitchen. “Tea?”

“No, thank you.” Zhao hadn’t made a move to follow him, which Yao appreciated. “I don’t suppose you know where the nation avatar of Taiwan is?”

Yao picked the kettle up from the stove, running it under cold water. “Mei? She’s in Taiwan.”

“She never made it to Taipei, Mr Wang.”

“Huh.” Yao shrugged. “Weird.”

He could hear someone rattling the doorknob of one of his rooms, followed by a dull thud as if that someone had tried to break it down by throwing their body weight against it. A tiny pang of irritation throbbed in his head. Yao really didn’t like it when people broke his stuff. 

Yao strode out of kitchen, the tin kettle still clutched in his grip. “Oi, careful with the doors! I’ve had them installed since-“

One of the officers was back in the main area, regarding him with a pointed expression. “What’s in the locked room on the second floor?”

“That’s Hong Kong’s room,” Yao replied calmly. “He’s not feeling well, and I’d rather you not go in and disturb him.”

“Open the door.”

If this was a hundred years ago, Yao might have thrown the kettle at the officer’s head. “No.”

A gunshot went off from upstairs. Yao swore under his breath, pushing past the officer and up the stairs. One of the other officers had blown the doorknob clean off, revealing the room that Leon had vacated for days. Yao scowled. This was going to be a bitch to replace. 

“Seriously? I’ll have you know I got that door in 1937 and-“

Zhao’s hand was on his shoulder, grip curling uncomfortably tight on his skin. Yao’s first instinct would have been to pull away, to shake him off, but he’d be damned if he gave his handler the satisfaction of seeing him recoil away in defence. “Are you not the boy’s father? He’s not here.”

A weird feeling shot through Yao’s chest. “Leon’s not my son.”

The officers were exchanging furtive glances, all bravado gone without a second instruction to follow. This wasn’t their place to interrupt, or even talk out of line - hell, Yao could have them sacked if he really wanted to. Zhao, however - Yao had no power over him in his boss’s eyes. 

Zhao let go of his shoulder, giving him a patronising pat before turning back down the stairs, not waiting to see if Yao was following or not. “I don’t know where you’re hiding those two, but you could be in big trouble if the higher ups found out.”

Yao scowled. “I’ve had worse bosses. Try me.”

“You’ve had a lot of privileges most nations don’t get from their bosses, Mr Wang, you really should count your blessings. The superiors will be willing to close one eye to your-“ Zhao paused, looking back up at Yao. “Is treason the right word? Can China really be guilty of treason against China?”

“You’re not being clever,” Yao responded flatly. 

Zhao motioned for the officers to follow him. “They’ll be willing to close one eye to that if you help out with something.”

 _Are they really backhandedly asking me for help now?_ Yao snorted. “ _Please_ , tell me how I can be of service.”

“It’s about the Japanese nation avatar."

Yao didn’t respond at first. His mind had tried to jump to the last time he’d seen Kiku - during that last meeting, was it? It must have been months, the idea that so much could have happened to Kiku within that period that Yao could never even have dreamt of was agonising.

“What happened to Kiku?”

Zhao smiled, a slight smirk playing at the edges of his thin lipped expression. If this was a century or so ago, Yao was sure he would have killed his handler where he stood. “Are you coming with us or not, Mr Wang?”

It felt like a weight was resting on Yao’s chest. “Yeah, whatever.”

* * *

“It’s this ship! I swear!” 

Sometimes, Ludwig wondered if Gilbert had too much time on his hands since their dismissal from work, playing on the inane theory that something weird must have happened for Hong Kong and Taiwan to allegedly hop on a boat for Germany. Ludwig had never really been a conspiracy guy - Ludwig trusted his bosses, but if he had to humour his brother for a bit, what harm could that really bring?

So here they were at the pier, at six in the morning. Watching from the distance, the morning shipments of cargo that came in looked little more than toy boats and bricks bobbing along the shoreline. 

Ludwig watched as cargo containers were brought out, one by one, waiting for any sign or shadows of movement in the containers left aside by the workers. “What makes you so sure it’s this one?”

“I compiled the details I could get on shipments coming in from Taiwan, Hong Kong or China to here, and this is the most probable one, I swear. The timing matches with the phone call, more or less.” Gilbert had his hand at his forehead, shading his eyes to try and get a better look at the ship from their position. “Fuck, I should’ve brought binoculars.”

“We’ve been here for three hours,” Ludwig pointed out. “Don’t you think we would have seen them by now?”

“This is the last one possible ship they could have been on, if they left before the phone call.” Gilbert squinted into the distance. “If they’re not on this ship, that means I grossly misinterpreted whatever secret code Yao was trying to drop on me and I refuse to believe that.”

Ludwig got up. “Well, I’m going back to the car to get some water bottles.”

Gilbert waved him off. “Yeah, yeah, go ahead. I’ll still be here. Hey, get some extra ones for Taiwan and Hong Kong, yeah?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW ITS BEEN ALMOST A MONTH I’M SO SORRY
> 
> i’m in my final year of college rn and i’ve been really busy lately getting through term submissions and internship assignments, but my term break is coming up soon so i’ll try my best to get the next chapter out to you guys sooner! 
> 
> i know this update came out a lot later than expected, and i’m really really sorry!! to make up for it, this chapter is a lil longer than usual, and i really hope you guys enjoyed it!
> 
> thank you again for following my dumb fic and thank you guys so much for 100 kudos on the last ten chapters! your support means a lot to me, every kudos, comment, bookmark, and subscription is extremely encouraging and i’m really grateful for you guys <3


	12. Chapter 12

Ludwig sighed, wearily running a hand through his perfectly slicked back hair. He was starting to feel a migraine coming on. “Come on Gilbert, let’s just go home.” 

“No!” Gilbert snapped, with all the temperament of an indolent teenager, “You can’t call the cops on me for _loitering_! That’s stupid!”

Security didn’t look particularly pleased with Gilbert’s response. “You’ve been hanging around the dock for hours, and we’ve received reports from other docks of you hanging around their areas too. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t be calling the police.”

This was getting way too much trouble than it was worth. Gilbert’s eyes kept darting to the port behind him, as if expecting Taiwan or Hong Kong to show up, doing little to make him look any less suspicious. “Listen, bucko. We’re with the government here, so if you don’t want any issues, back off.”

The security guard narrowed his eyes at him. “Do you have any official documents? Any form of proof?”

Gilbert glowered at the guard. “Lud, call Huber.”

“I really don’t think we should be bothering-”

Gilbert snapped around in Ludwig’s direction, his wide-eyed stare a silent, frustrated plea for him to just do as he said. 

Their handler picked up at the first ring. “Mr Beilschmidt… Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“I’m sorry for interrupting your rest.” Ludwig paused, suddenly aware of how dry the inside of his mouth felt. “I, uh, need your help. A civilian is threatening to call the police on Gilbert.”

“And that is my problem because…?”

Ludwig couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “How is it _not_ your problem?”

“Because the Kingdom of Prussia is defunct, is not my responsibility, nor the responsibility of anybody in the German government,” Huber responded coldly. 

As if Ludwig’s silence was a cue to keep talking, Huber went on, “Please keep a leash on that brother of yours. I don’t even know how he’s still hanging around.”

An uncomfortable burst of anger prickled away at Ludwig’s insides. “With all due respect-” 

“With all due respect,” his handler interrupted, “Please don’t call again unless it’s important.”

“But-” The line cut off, leaving Ludwig to stuff his phone back into his pocket in frustration. “Come on Gilbert, let’s go. Please.”

“What?” Gilbert whined. “What did that bitch Huber say? Did he call me illegitimate again?” 

Ludwig’s uncomfortable lack of a response was enough for Gilbert’s annoyed look to deepen into a scowl. “Oh, that fucker.”

The security guard cleared his throat. Gilbert’s eyes were still darting between the docks and back. “I swear I’ll leave in a couple hours, come _on_ -”

Ludwig nudged Gilbert with a sharp jab to his side. Inane theory or not, Gilbert really didn’t know when to stop. “ _Gilbert_.”

The defeated trudge back to the car was excruciatingly silent. Gilbert had tried bargaining with Ludwig to let him stake out somewhere nearby, but Ludwig had to put his foot down that one brush with trouble was one brush too many. 

Gilbert was pissed off - and as much as Ludwig knew that he’d be over it in a couple of hours, a little feeling of guilt was still kicking around the back of his head. 

“I’m sure they’ll be able to find their way to look for us.”

Gilbert grumbled something inaudible in response. 

* * *

“Am I sick?”

Kiku’s small hands were grasped in Yao’s, the older nation gently running a thumb over his little brother’s pale skin. Yao hadn’t slept a wink over the plane ride, but whether it was over the stress of the sudden situation, or just the delirium of seeing Kiku again after months, he wasn’t sure. 

“That was what they were telling me.” Yao squeezed Kiku’s hand in a way that he hoped was comforting. It had been decades since Kiku had needed even a shred of Yao’s support like this, his brown eyes blinking in that lost, confused way when he was five and needed Yao’s help after breaking another one of his bowls. “How have you been feeling?”

“Not much.” Kiku admitted, gaze trailing to the floor. “I just worry about how my work is being handled without me. How are… How are things doing? Outside?”

Yao blinked. “What things?”

“Things,” Kiku repeated, quieter this time. “Meetings, trade deals, I don’t know. The usual.”

A weird feeling of unease twitched inside him. They hadn’t had a meeting for months before the border shutdown. “Kiku, what’s the last major thing you remember?” 

Kiku chewed on his bottom lip, downcast eyes refusing to make contact with Yao’s. As much as Yao wanted to believe that Kiku was carefully considering his next few words with the security camera over them, a small, angry part of him knew that it was more likely that Kiku’s bosses had fucked the boy over this time. “I am sorry.”

“Ssh,” Yao hushed, pulling Kiku in for a hug. He could feel Kiku relax against his weight, grip clung loosely to the fabric of Yao’s shirt. Kiku wasn’t usually big on physical affection - but the tired expression in his already blank eyes was enough to hint to Yao that he probably needed it. 

The door swung open with a soft creek. The stony-faced official outside, who Yao recognised as Kiku’s handler, silently motioned that it was time for him to go. Yao glared, quietly rubbing soothing circles in Kiku’s back with one hand, flipping him off with the other. 

Kiku pulled away with a sigh, glancing at the open door behind him. “Thank you for making time to visit.”

“I’ll come back to see you tomorrow, okay?” Yao smiled, squeezing Kiku’s hand reassuringly. “They’re letting me stay in Japan to look after you.”

At the mention, Kiku brightened up instantly. “Really?”

His new residence was a temporary cell and they had treated him like a criminal the entire time, but the last thing he wanted was for Kiku to worry. “Really.”

Yao’s smile dropped the second the door was pulled shut behind him. They had only sent one official to fetch him. He couldn’t help but feel a little bit insulted that they didn’t think more would be necessary. 

“Am I going to have to guess or are you going to tell me what’s going on with him?”

Sato met Yao’s cold stare with his own, but there was no denying the underlying tinge of panic that he was trying to conceal. “Your handler sent you here to help with Japan’s recovery. Please focus on the task at hand.”

“I don’t care what you want.” Yao jabbed a finger in his pinstriped suit. “He can’t remember a thing. What did you do to him?”

“He was paranoid, he was being prescribed-”

“Kiku doesn’t need to be prescribed _anything_ -”

“The dosage has already been stopped, considering its unforeseen side effects,” Sato interrupted through gritted teeth. “There was reason to believe he was suffering from hallucinations. Is that good enough?”

Yao scoffed. “So is that all you’re allowed to tell me? Then I guess that’s good enough.”

* * *

“I wonder what happened to the resistance group.”

“Paul’s a douche, I hope he’s dead.”

Ivan made a guttural noise of annoyance in the back of his throat. “God, you’re short-sighted. Is it so hard to make pleasant small talk with you?”

It was difficult enough being stuck between Ivan and Alfred on an 11 hour flight. Matthew leaned against the stiff headrest, plastic earbuds doing little to block out the occasional jibe thrown from either side. The little graphic of their plane on the screen overhead had inched most of its way to a point marked _Rome_. 

Matthew’s head was throbbing with the beginnings of a headache. He hadn’t gotten as much sleep as he had hoped he would, and the two rolls of bread he was given didn’t do much for the hunger either. Alfred had passed out for the first half of the flight, snoring away blissfully on the crook of his brother’s shoulder. Ivan wasn’t much for conversation, quietly working on the puzzle book he’d picked up in the airport, twirling a chewed up pencil between his fingers.

Once Alfred had woken up and brushed the drool from Matthew’s shoulder though, he and Ivan were at it again with the back and forths. 

The pilot’s announcement was being made as the plane began its descent, the sky outside deepening in shades of blue through the cabin window on Ivan’s right. Beside him, Alfred popped a mint into his mouth, leaning over to dig through the pocket of the seat in front of him for spare paper. Matthew closed his eyes and hoped to spare the last few minutes for sleep.

“... For our foreign friends travelling with us, welcome to Rome - and for our Italian friends onboard, welcome home. Seat numbers 14D, E and F please do not exit the aircraft, stay in your seats and wait for cabin crew to assist you.”

Matthew’s eyes flew open. Ivan stiffened, jerking his head to look around them like a startled meerkat. Alfred continued writing his letter off the back of a yellowing landing safety handout. 

There was a bump - and then another, and then they were on flat ground again, the length of the airport rolling by as the plane slowed to a stop. Alfred tucked the letter into his bag and yawned, as if nothing had happened. 

An air steward approached them, squinting at the list of passengers’ information in his hand. “Mr Alexander Stroganoff, Jeremy Stewart and Danny Stewart?”

Alfred cooly flashed one of his Cheshire cat grins. “That’s us.”

* * *

It took about fifteen minutes of checks with airport administration to confirm that they were indeed not who they said they were, and only five more before they were escorted to the airport’s security holding area. Alfred still insisted on calling them ‘Alex’ and ‘Jeremy’ on the way there, elbowing Ivan in a bid to get him to say something as he bickered with their security officer.

They were led down to a glass walled office and told to wait outside, while the officers inside argued with a higher up on what to do with the three of them. 

Alfred leaned against the wall, nonchalantly scuffing his shoe against the door. “So, uh… About that brilliant going to Italy idea you had.”

Ivan rolled his eyes and ignored him. 

The door from down the hall swung open. A nervous looking twenty something in a suit that looked far too big for him appeared, hurrying along as he spoke in hasty Italian to-

Matthew had to do a double take. “Italy?” 

Alfred’s head snapped up, instantaneously locking eyes with a wide eyed Feliciano. A nervous smile spread across his face. 

The man who must have been Feliciano’s handler hissed at him. “Who is that? How do they know you?”

Feliciano laughed - that silly, cheery way he would do when the nations would mess around at meetings, or when he was hiding something that he really didn’t want to reveal. “Oh there’s no need to get so tense, Marco! I’ve met plenty of civilians before, it’s really not a big deal-”

“Mr Vargas, you know I’m going to have to report this.”

Feliciano’s smile didn’t waver, but Matthew could tell that he was beginning to panic. “Marco, Marco, it’s really not a big deal-”

“You _know_ you’re not supposed to-”

“It’s really fine, it’s not a big deal anyway-”

His handler frowned, casting a wary glance in the other nations’ direction. “Are those nations?”

In a feat of strength that Matthew didn’t know Feliciano possessed, he turned and pulled the taller man into a headlock. Seemingly unbothered, Ivan glanced back to check on the office behind them - the officers inside had their backs turned. 

Marco was spluttering, wheezing, clawing weakly at Feliciano’s arm in a desperate bid for him to let go. An unnaturally unsettled look had crossed Feliciano’s usual bright eyed demeanor. 

“I’m sorry, Marco. Usually you let me talk my way out of things,” he muttered, apologetic. Feliciano glanced back up at the three of them, jutting his chin in their direction. “Could someone help me take his gun? I can’t reach it.”

Alfred, horrified, made a start towards the two of them. “Dude, that’s enough. Let him go.”

“Come on, Al. I’m not going to kill him. Can I please have the gun?”

“Feli-”

Ivan stepped past Alfred, easily unclipping the gun from the struggling man’s holster. Marco yelped as Feliciano took the gun from Ivan. Matthew heard the door to the office burst open. Instinctively, he leapt away, stumbling backward to where Feliciano and Ivan stood.

Alfred hadn’t moved, frantically looking between Feliciano and the security officers who were yelling - ordering Feliciano to let Marco go. 

He pressed the barrel of the gun to Marco’s head, a displaced pang of guilt hitting Matthew as the man began to whimper. “Get behind me,” Feliciano murmured in Russian. “There’s an emergency exit at the back.”

Matthew and Ivan quickly complied. Alfred stood frozen in place. 

“Alfred!” Ivan snapped.

Over the next agonising few seconds, they backed up behind Feliciano, the gun still pressed against his handler’s head. An uncomfortable lump had settled in the back of Matthew’s throat, half expecting the officers to start shooting at them anyway, for reinforcements to burst in at any moment. Alfred’s eyes trailed uneasily to the gun gripped in Feliciano’s hand. 

Ivan reached the door first, pressing the handle down and pushing it open with his back, stare still fixed on the officers who had their guns pointed at Feliciano. They kept going, out the door, out into the parking lot - until the metal door finally swung shut with a bang in front of them. 

Matthew let out a breath that he hadn’t realised he was holding. The warmth of outside air was a welcome change from the frigid chill of the airport. Ivan unbuckled his belt, reached up, and looped it through the door’s hinge to keep it barricaded. 

Alfred patted Feliciano gently on the arm. “C’mon, dude. We’re good now. Let him go.”

Feliciano took in a shaky breath and nodded, but Ivan reached out and held his arm in place before he could let Marco go. 

“You know there’s no way we can let him go without putting all of us in danger.”

Alfred turned on Ivan immediately. “What the fuck, man?”

There was a brief moment of uncomfortable silence, Feliciano’s grip still tight around his handler.

“I’m sorry. Ivan’s right. He’ll run tattling about the three of you to my boss. I’m just trying to protect you guys.” Feliciano’s voice had dropped to a mumble, refusing to meet Alfred’s insistent stare. Marco had started to cry - pleading that he wasn’t going to, begging any of the others to help. Alfred made a move to snatch the gun from Feliciano, but his arm was grabbed in Ivan’s vice like grip at the last second.

“Let _go_ , Russki,” Alfred growled.

“The more noise he makes, the more attention he’s going to attract to us,” Ivan replied calmly. “He is just one person. I don’t know what you’re getting so worked up over.”

Alfred tried to pull himself free from Ivan’s hold, but as strong as he was, Ivan was just as strong. “Matt!”

Matthew flinched at the mention of his name, but didn’t make any move to respond.

“I’ll make it quick and painless. You guys - uh - might want to turn around for this.” Feliciano forced out a weak smile. “I’m sorry it had to end like this, Marco. Do you want me to say a prayer for you before you go?”

Alfred was still struggling to pull himself free from Ivan’s grip. Marco’s pleading had been reduced to an incoherent babble of sobbing. Matthew turned away to face the parking lot. 

* * *

The approaching sound of a car’s engine had sent Antonio running downstairs, throwing the living room curtains open in expectation. He let out a loud, very audible sigh of relief. “Oh, thank god.”

“I knew he’d come back eventually,” Arthur muttered from the couch, not looking up from his book. “Brothers fight. He just needed to blow off some steam. I don’t know why you got so worried.”

“Tell that to Lovino and Francis. _They’re_ the ones who’ve been out all day looking for him.” There was a momentary pause, and then Antonio exclaimed something in Spanish. 

Annoyed, Arthur snapped his book shut. “For the love of god, _what_ is it now?” 

“He did it. Holy shit, he really did it.” Antonio gestured at the window, yanking the curtain back further for Arthur to see. “He’s got Alfred, Matthew and Ivan with him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's good to see you all again! :D but it's also almost 3am for me so i'm gonna go pass out
> 
> let me know what you think! i hope yall have been enjoying the fic so far ö


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so very sorry about the sudden hiatus - in fact i took so long that season SEVEN got announced. man.
> 
> i’ve recently started internship and it’s been taking up a lot of my life lately, updates will be slow due to the reduced time i have now - but i can promise you that i am still very excited to work on this fic. thank you for your patience in sticking by and coming along for the journey :)
> 
> chapter reuploaded due to a technical issue

Arthur was out the door before Antonio could, breaking into a sprint that faltered mid step once he was out onto the porch. The car had stopped a distance away, left haphazardly outside the gate. It was too quiet - no shouts, no move for happy reunion - uncanny silence permeated only by the low hum of the car’s engine.

Ivan was the first one out, casually nodding in acknowledgement before slipping quietly into the house. Alfred was next - it had barely been a year since Antonio last saw him - and he wasn’t sure if it was the forced, uneasy smile, or the too tight way he was gripping onto the strap of his bag, but the visceral change in Alfred only reminded Antonio of just how much time had passed since then. 

Alfred pulled Arthur into an awkward one armed hug, slapping him on the back just a little harder than usual. “I missed you, man.”

Feliciano and Matthew remained in the car. It was only when Alfred patted Antonio on the shoulder and ducked into the house, did Antonio realise just how much distance they had put between themselves and Alfred.

“Oh boy,” Arthur muttered. “Something happened, didn’t it?”

Matthew jogged over, Feliciano trailing quietly behind him. Like his brother, he pulled Arthur into a hug, albeit more gentle than Alfred's, nodding to Antonio and slipping into the house without so much as a second glance at Feliciano. Antonio made a move towards Feliciano, who shook his head mutely, pushing past him and into the house. 

Antonio let out an uncomfortable sigh that whistled out through clenched teeth. "I don't know about you, but I thought this was going to be a happy occasion."

The air had gotten colder, whether from the beginnings of early November breeze or from the icy encounter earlier, Antonio wasn't so sure. 

Matthew and Alfred had retreated to the dining room table. Alfred's expression was unreadable - drumming his fingers against the marble surface as Matthew tried to pull a conversation out of him. Ivan was curled up on the couch, flipping through a month old newspaper that Feliciano had left on the coffee table, foot tapping along to some imaginary beat like he was without a care in the world. Feliciano was crouched beside the coffee table, busying himself with putting away the knick-knacks left strewn on its countertop.

"Do you want me to talk to them?"

Arthur pulled the door shut, his stare not really leaving the two boys by the table. "Please."

Antonio knelt beside Feliciano, and lightly elbowed him in the side. "I know what you're doing."

Feliciano didn't look at him. "What am I doing?"

"It's not like you to just start cleaning like that," Antonio hummed. "C'mon. What's really bothering you? 

That was apparently enough to make Feliciano break. He snapped around to face Antonio, features pinched into a nervous grimace. "Alfred's not talking to me. It's weird, okay? I just got them back, and now it's just-" He gestured to nothing in particular. "I don't know. I had to kill Marco." 

Marco - the Italy brothers' handler. Antonio had only met him a few times, but he had never really liked the guy to begin with. "Okay, Feli. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. But don't you think that was a little..." Antonio trailed off, struggling to find the right word for it. "Risky?"

"Necessary," Ivan chipped in from the couch. 

Alfred looked up, staring daggers in Ivan's direction. "He only killed his handler because _you_ told him to!"

"And?" Ivan didn't look up from his newspaper. "It was three against one, Alfred. You really need to drop it."

 _So much for low profile_ , Antonio thought. Lovino was going to be pissed when he heard about this. 

The door swung open as if on cue, revealing an arguing, frazzled looking Lovino and Francis. Despite the chilly weather outside, Francis's blue dress shirt was stained with sweat, and Lovino's was no better - they must have had resorted to running through the streets themselves. 

"Feliciano isn't a _child_ , he'd know perfectly well how to get himself home and-" Francis stopped, falling silent at the sight of Alfred and Matthew sitting at the table. 

Alfred was the first one up, striding across the living room in an almost run and tackling Francis into a hug. Matthew piled on from the side, amongst mummers of _it's been so long_ s and _thank goodness you're alright_ s. Arthur made awkward eye contact with Antonio, who jutted his chin in the trio's direction, motioning for him to join in. 

Lovino blinked slowly, slackened grip still hanging on to the door handle. His stare had fixed on Ivan, before trailing over to Alfred and Matthew, then back to Feliciano. Shooting one last cautionary look out the window, he turned back to the others and yanked the curtains shut. "What the fuck is going on here?"

"Doesn't matter." Antonio rubbed his hands together - they had gotten slick from nervous sweat. "What's important is that we're all here, right?"

"We might need to pack up and leave soon," Feliciano added quietly. "I, uh, killed Marco. When they find out he's missing, our house might be the first place they check."

For a moment, Lovino stayed silent. Feliciano slunk back further behind Antonio. Lovino had a hand to his face, and a low, guttural groan sounded from behind his palm. The chatter from Alfred and Francis went still, and even Ivan stopped to look up from his newspaper. 

"This is bad." Lovino had crossed into the kitchen, snatching up boxes of pasta and whatever dried foods he'd left lying on the kitchen countertop. "We're leaving first thing tomorrow morning. Judging by the way Rossi's been on our ass these past few days, it won't take long for them to realise."

"So it didn't matter whether we killed Marco or not," Alfred muttered bitterly.

Ivan calmly set the newspaper back down onto the coffee table. "Killing him bought us time. Let it go."

There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment, punctuated only by the rustling of bags that Lovino was filling with cans and boxes of food. Arthur mumbled something about packing up, and trudged up the stairs, Alfred in tow. Matthew was whispering something to Francis. The ankle monitor wrapped around Antonio's leg was starting to feel heavier.

Feliciano was lingering by the kitchen's entrance, idly drawing circles in the rug with his foot. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." A small smile had made its way onto Lovino's face. "If I'm being honest, I'm actually a little glad that Marco's dead."

Antonio ran a hand around the plastic band that was secured tight around his ankle. "That's great and all, but I really need to get this thing off soon if we're leaving the house tomorrow."

"That reminds me!" Pulling out a large kitchen knife from an open drawer, Lovino waved it brightly in Antonio's direction. "Get over here."

* * *

Yao couldn't sleep.

No matter. But he had to pretend like he was, lying on his back, the gun he'd stolen from a guard he'd knocked out earlier hidden in the folds of his blankets. His hand was curled around the pistol's grip - he didn't know how long he could get away with hiding it for, so tonight had to go off without a hitch.

The room they'd put him in looked less like a cell and more like a sparsely furnished hotel room, even equipped with a proper bed and a mini fridge. But a cell was still a cell - he'd easily found a hidden camera wedged in the base of an unassuming clock, and casually turned it the wrong way. There was no telling if they had snuck more cameras in other blindspots, so it was best to continue playing dumb for now, just in case. 

There was no way that they hadn't noticed and wouldn't send someone in to put the clock back in place, though. That was the main one - perched on the cupboard beside the bed, and tampering with it was the only reason why Yao felt that he could get away with smuggling the gun that far. 

He heard the click of the door's lock, and the low creak that followed of someone trying to push the door open as slowly and quietly as possible. His grip around the pistol tightened, and once he heard the door's lock click shut again, he pulled himself up to a sitting position and raised the gun.

Whoever it was must have seen the silhouette of the pistol - backing up against the door and hurriedly fumbling for their own gun.

"In terms of odds, I'm sorry to say that we are not matched here," Yao stated flatly. "I mean, you _could_ shoot me, but I will shoot you back and it will be way more fatal than any shot that any mortal can land on me. Not to mention, my bosses will be furious."

The figure by the door stiffened at the suggestion. "Please put your gun down."

Yao had to bite back a bark of laughter. "Sato? Is that really you? God, you're understaffed."

Kiku's handler scowled - Yao had clearly hit a nerve. "I'm just doing my job. The superiors have better things to worry about than babysitting Kiku Honda."

"It's your fault he's like this." Yao got off the bed, taking a step in Sato's direction. "Nations aren't supposed to be that affected by human drugs. What's going on with him?"

No response. Yao took another step forward, the barrel of the gun poised dangerously close to the other man's stomach. "I'm just asking for a little bit of information - surely your bosses can understand."

Sato took a deep breath, turning his head to break eye contact with Yao. "Where's your guard?"

"It's a room with a regular, open door, and a single guard. I'm honestly insulted that you didn't think more would be necessary." Feigning a sudden injury to lure the guard in had been easy enough. Yao nodded to the locked bathroom door behind him. "Don't worry. He's in there - he'll be fine."

"They've been moving people out," Sato mumbled. 

Sudden events that affected large populations could induce temporary physical reactions, and whatever drugs they were feeding Kiku were clearly meant to make it worse. Something had been going on behind their backs. "This isn't just a handful of families. What kind of people?"

Sato didn't respond. Yao pushed the barrel of the gun against his chest, causing him to squirm, back now pressed against the door. "What kind of people?"

"Rich families. Families with ties to the government."

Something in Sato's pocket buzzed. Yao made a move to reach for his coat pocket, but Sato immediately slapped a hand over its opening. 

"It's not an alert for backup, please-"

Yao held his empty hand out. "You know I can shoot you and take it myself, right?"

Sato begrudgingly pulled his phone out - Yao quickly snatching it from his grasp, pistol still pressed against his chest. 

He had expected an emergency alert, maybe a tracking app open, but not this - rows and rows of information filling the screen, location tagged, information about the other nations, their known movements, suspected whereabouts-

_China - Successful transportation of nation avatar to Japan. Nation avatar is monitored and no longer considered a security threat._

The pistol in his grip unconsciously dug deeper into the other man's chest. Sato let out a little whimper of pain. "You people are keeping tabs on us? What the hell is going on?"

_Italy - Suspected breach by three unidentified nation avatars. Spanish nation avatar under house arrest at Vargas home. Due to potential congregation of nation avatars, situation in Italy has been deemed a high security threat._

_Mobile communication compromised by nation avatar. Do not attempt to initiate communication._

Yao's head was spinning. The cold of the night was already biting at him through the fabric of his thin shirt, doing nothing to help the uneasy feeling of dread prickling up on him. There was already so much he didn't know. There was no way he could go back to his bosses after this. Here, he was a prisoner. At home, he was as good as one. 

The image of Kiku in the other room flashed through his mind, and he urged himself to stay rational. 

"Do you think you could call one of your private government planes for Kiku and I to Italy?" 

"That's not how it-"

Yao moved to aim the gun to his head. "Please call me a plane, or I'll find a way to do it myself."

Sato didn't respond at first, his nervous stare darting to the gun pointed in his face. With a stiff nod, he turned to the hallway, beckoning for Yao to follow.

* * *

Leon hadn't coughed up blood in the past two days. But he had also cut his finger on a metal handrail ten minutes ago, and it still hadn't healed over. 

He leaned his head against the compartment wall and tried not to think about becoming human.

* * *

Their old seven-seater car was not meant to fit eight, so they had to make do - Lovino, Feliciano, and whatever else they couldn't fit into the trunk in the front, everyone else squeezed together at the back. They had packed and fled before daybreak, the early glow of sunlight only now beginning to peak over the horizon. 

It was quiet, Lovino noticed - as designated driver, he was one of the few in the car still awake. His eyes trailed from the empty road ahead, to the reflection in the little rectangle of the rearview mirror. 

In the second row, Antonio was slumped against the edge of his seat, face pressed against the window. Lovino had gutted the monitor around his ankle like a fish, but they still hadn't figured out a way to wrench the band itself from his skin. 

Beside him, Arthur had nodded off on Francis's shoulder, Francis's arm draped over his sleeping frame in a rare show of public affection between the two. The phone was sticking out visibly from the inside of Arthur's jacket pocket, powered off and never to be used again - just in case they got tracked.

Matthew, Alfred and Ivan had taken the back row. Alfred was the only one still awake - chin rested against the palm of his hand as he looked blankly out of the window. He hadn't slept a wink last night, sitting by the door with wide, bloodshot eyes as if he had taken it upon himself to keep watch for the others. Every now and then Lovino would see him slip, eyes falling shut for just a little while longer, before he'd snap himself back awake with a jolt of his head. 

Feliciano was balancing three large duffel bags' worth of clothes and supplies on his lap. "I'd put on some music, but I don't want to disturb the others."

Lovino made eye contact with Alfred through the rearview mirror. "You know you can sleep, right?"

"Don't need to," Alfred mumbled.

Ivan looked up, suppressing a yawn. "Where are we going again?"

"To our old country house." Lovino gripped the steering wheel, pulling the car down another quiet lane. They hadn't passed another vehicle in miles. "We had a New Year's Day party there once - ten years ago, I think. It's the only place of our's that isn't known by our current bosses."

"And what happens after that?" Feliciano asked in a small voice. "While our bosses keep doing - whatever it is they're doing. Do we just keep running?"

In the back row, Alfred had finally given into sleep, sagging against Matthew for support. 

Lovino didn't turn to look at Feliciano. "I don't know."

* * *

“I don’t like the word _handler_.” Yao pressed his nose against the comfortable chill of the plane’s little oval window. “It implies that we’re like animals - animals that need to be handled - restrained - by beings of a higher authority than us."

Sato had called them a plane, the one Kiku usually took for official meetings and conferences - the very memory of which was beginning to feel like another life to Yao.

It was a mistake letting Sato go. Kiku's higher ups were going to catch wind that they had fled to Italy, but a promise was a promise and a small part of Yao had a feeling that they were going to have the plane tracked anyway. 

Yao went on. "We've been alive for so much longer than them. We don't need _babysitters_. Right, Kiku?"

Kiku nodded mutely.

The billows of clouds outside the window was beginning to clear, giving way to a sea of greenery and buildings that looked like little toy houses down below. Yao shot one last glance to the cockpit, and pulled himself up from his seat. "Kiku, where are the emergency parachutes?"

Kiku blinked, slowly turning to meet Yao's gaze. "It's in the cupboard at the back. Why?"

"Because-" Yao pulled the cupboard's latch free, tossing a folded up parachute to Kiku. "When they land us in Italy, there's going to be more of them waiting for us there. It's not ideal-" He crossed over to the plane's emergency exit, hand hovering over the door handle. "But it's the only way we won't get tracked. Are you okay with this?"

There was a moment's hesitation, the folded parachute still clutched in Kiku's hands. For a while, it looked like he was going to say no - retreat back to the status quo of _I'm not supposed to and that's not what my bosses want_ \- but the look in his eyes hardened in resolution, and he nodded. "Yes. Let's go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> looking at my drafts, there’s a possibility that i may have to extend this fic to 25 chapters


End file.
